By the seaside
Along with the books you gift me.
With thoughts that catch on fire
The way they burn to beautiful.
Like the white ash
At the tip of a flame.
The sound of your voice
It's never too much.
Our conversations cherished
Like leaves pressed
Between book pages kept.
And your poetry
That slips into the veins
Of leaves.
I love that
And I am grateful for you

Pendine Sands

It was J’s birthday as we awoke for the day. We were in Laugharne. There we listened from the harbour and the nearby sea. We found an abandoned beach. It appeared to be near an old military training base, but it was not occupied. Maybe it was not in use or perhaps it was Sunday.  How could such a beautiful place be so empty? 

The places that we go are amazing and the names of places we travel to have a certain dignity. The same way abstract words such as glory, honor and hallow are named along these villages to this Welsh island that border so many oceans. 

The cockle shells left empty on the beach by the seagulls morning ritual upon the shore.  

The morning beckoned the glistening waters, the beachhead with dried waves of sand swirling, crunching under our feet. All we could hear was the call of the seagulls; with not a soul in sight for miles except for us and the dogs; Max and Daisy. 

In the distance; Laugharne perhaps even there was Tenby on the other shore. A place of sailing boats not too far, but still in the distance. 

Pendine Sands was a place of solace, peaceful, extensive and grand.  This empty beach was imposing although immense, but yet impressive. 


“My birthday began with the water- 
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name 
Above the farms and the white horses 
And I rose 
In rainy autumn 
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days. 
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road 
Over the border 
And the gates 
Of the town closed as the town awoke. 
Through the parables 
Of sun light 
And the legends of the green chapels 
And the twice told fields of infancy 
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.”

Poem in October
by Dylan Thomas


Laugharne is full of history. It’s a small town situated on the estuary of the River Taf, Carmarthenshire, and was made famous by the poet and playwright, Dylan Thomas who lived here from 1949-1953.

Upon Dylan’s 30th birthday in October, 1944, he took a walk through Laugharne, writing the ‘Poem in October’ in which Dylan recounts the sights and sounds of the very same walk we took today. 
Happy Birthday JHH. I Love you.