File:Peninnis, St. Mary's (2850553169).jpg

Portents

Out beyond the islands, over water millpond still, Stormclouds gather, like yards and masts of some small fleet.

The tide has swallowed Porthcressa Brow, and turned wine-red. I walk by Stony Porth and Carn Mahael; the wine licks the shore Which has become the rim of some great chalice, stirred By someone’s breath. The Agnes bell clangs with the breathing.

I stand on Dutchman’s Carn; a sliver of moon has risen. The sea glints the silver of tilted liquor, for an instant, And then is ruddy again, rich and mature, for some great drinking.

Past the ruin of King Edward’s Mill, the stone bathed in sunset blood, I wander towards Buzza, down the walled-in road. There is a stillness, As though all have fled, or are stolen away. A glance beyond Samson:

The yards and masts loom skyward; one cloud is a giant, stooping To scoop the sea in his horny hand, raising it dripping to his thick lip, And drinking slowly, as though preparing for a long war.

The muscatel quivers at the rim, portending something.

Source material: A sunset walk on Peninnis, 18th August 2004, arousing thoughts of Branch 2 of the Mabinogion.