The Welsh have a word that possesses no definite translation: hiraeth. Roughly, it means: missing something, longing for places and spaces that feel like home. It is a word heavy with sound, breath, beauty, and meaning. I’m reminded once again how impoverished the English language is, how careless. What’s worse, we English-speakers don’t even care about its poverty. We’re content…
I walked off the edge. And I jumped. And I was pushed. And I sat teetering on the brink. I don’t know why particularly. I wouldn’t refer to myself as a thrill-seeker (unless, of course, you count mixing four kinds of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream together in preparation for a Lord of the Rings Director’s Cut marathon; but even…
I was able to spend some time on Bardsey Island/Ynys Enlli on the tip of the Llyn Peninsula, Wales. Known as the Island of 20,000 Saints, it is fabled to be one of the resting places of the elusive Holy Grail. Three pilgrimages to this island are equivalent to one pilgrimage to Rome. Apparently I’m one third of the way!…
