Criccieth

(A Weekend in Wales)

No stars to view, just cars, more cars
and traffic cones, then roundabouts,
a crescent moon, a journey out,
speed camera checks, long carriageways
that measure out an English mile,
that measure out an English mile.

A star, a star
that calls you on
then lanes weave out a long Welsh mile.
They reel us in and wind us out a long Welsh mile.

Araf, Araf,
Slow down
Slow down

Araf, Araf,
SLOW DOWN

Araf, Araf,
Slow down,
SLOW DOWN.

A long Welsh mile.

Beside the road, beyond the trees,
the mountains crouch, the mountains crouch,
and scores of stars are shining out a long Welsh mile.

Araf, Araf,
Slow down
SLOW DOWN

Araf, Araf,
SLOW DOWN.

Araf, Araf,
Slow down
SLOW DOWN.

A long Welsh mile.

On spotlit walls the cars play on
the grey stones dance
THE GREY STONES DANCE.

Afon y pont
Afon y pont
A LONG WELSH MILE.

Araf, Araf,
the signs all say.

Araf, Araf,
Slow down.

Araf, Araf,
Slow down,
Slow down,
A LONG WELSH MILE.

Arbour trees are framing road
with ancient boughs
with ancient boughs.

A nave of wood is rising up
above the road
above the road

to weave us through cathedral nights,
to weave us in and weave us out
a long Welsh night. (both voices here)

Above our heads are stretching out
scores and scores of starry lights.

On bumpy lane, through farmer’s gate
the last long mile is rolling out a journey long
a barred back door that greets us; then a wall to climb.
The torch we brought lights up the steps.
We trip and fall and carry bags.

A river calls
or is it sea?
A river calls
OR IS IT SEA?

Have they forgotten that we come?
Did they forget our journey out?
The night is dark and we are cold.
A LONG WELSH MILE

We bend to find a hidden key
then stretch our eyes to find the stars.

Y Dryll, Y Dryll.

The long Welsh mile has brought us to a dolphin view
where choirs of stars spread out to sing a chorus of
a Welsh miled light.
And in the morning, sun rained sea,
a sounding waterfall on stone.
Boulder guards that stand and wait
as muses sing and gulls in air
hold back their breath,
cry not too much
and fly the wind of morning light.

Y Dryll, Y Dryll.

The waves are rippling through the glass
an inky white on paper beds that spreads itself
to form itself.

A dolphin leaps and we are sea,
an inky pen that rises up and flows us out
a long Welsh night.

We float upon the surface of the Welsh miled light. (both voices)

And you, my daughter, wish a flute into your hands
so you can stand and play the rocks an echo too ethereal
for words to catch, for songs to sing, or crawling cars
to carry back.

(flute composition is played)

With us there is no need to speak,
to pave a mile with ancient words.
You hear the hedge cliff walk that calls

‘To Criccieth, TO CRICCIETH.’

We share a hug of gentle light and then you leave
to walk the stones, to find the spiraled shell that spins you
through the cradle song of say,

Y Dryll Y Dryll.

We are the sea, the sun, the light,
the shining doves that dive to sea,
a choir of voiceless silver wings,
a flickering of light.

(Musical piece with allusions to ‘Yesterday’ played here on guitar)

A gentle fingered ‘Yesterday’
Ripples through the cottage walls,
steps out notes that bring me back
where people talk, a guitar plays,
and someone hums a melody.

Soon we weave our way again through moon and stars
to journey home.
But we have seen the moon in day upon a blue
and sun blessed sky.

A Cymru night in Cymru day
where journey knows no distance.

(Julie Boden)

Directions for performance:
Voice One typed in this font.
Voice Two typed in this font
CHORUS TYPED IN CAPITALS