Yr Wyddfa

The left hand column are words I chose that have come into mind on my first day away in North Wales, the right hand column are the randomly selected rhyming words for them as directed by today’s prompt.

Bitter – titter
groan – throne
sheen – stream
ache – placate
smoke – invoke
Jackdaw – corridor
lichen – smitten
strait – gate
Swimming – brimming
picking – bickering

………..

Bickering Jackdaws with ebony sheen cling to grey stone cottages like lichen as young girls, done with wild swimming, blush-skinned but not shivering, shoulder drape their towels and titter homewards along the lake banks.

Bitter wood smoke drifts down the ancient corridor of ice-carved mountains, a silver strait of glass rippling at its feet, brimming with brooding, fathomless questions.

Bitter histories are carved from these rocks. The wind groans with the weight of their ache, whistling occasional shrill notes through the rusty iron gate that is ignored by ewes and lambs alike as they placate their hunger on the Vicar’s lush lawn.

In majestic form, the great granite throne of Wyddfa holds aloft sullen clouds. Swollen from ancient seabed to azure sky, sent to invoke awe, its summit a thrown down gauntlet to mere mortals.

By the stream that hides the gravel bed where Char lay eggs to blossom, finches with sinking-sun illuminated ruby breasts are busy picking and pecking apple buds, stealing fruit that will never bloom.

We are smitten.

…..