The compass point quivers.

Where in Wales are we?

Myddfai, Mothvey, Myddfe

Village of the Pysicians,

Partly on, partly off the tourist trail.

The hills roll not too steeply.

Trees nestle where they cleave.

Rivers rage, rest, tumble

Or meander through watery meadows.

 

But where are we?

The compass point rests.

Definitely not north, hardly south.

Too far west to be east, too far east to be west

And yet not properly mid-Wales.

 

Night time and the sky is starlit

Moonwhite spills over fields

Flows milky along hedges, down tree trunks

Stripping their bark bone white.

 

Let's leave it to the stars to fix our bearings

To past, present and future.

 

Mary MacGregor