Cerddi Porth y Gorllewin
Tair Abergele
Roedd hi’n fore sgubo briwsion yr haf oddi dan draed, am y tro, golchi mêl yr haul of fy mysedd a chasglu ogla ola’r tymor mewn jar i hel llwch am flwyddyn arall.
Ac eto, roedd ‘na rywbeth yn fy nhynnu oddi ar lwybr fy nhro arferol, llesisiau’n suo ar y gwynt, ynn erfyn ar rywun, unrhyw un i’w canfod. A dyna ble’r oedden nhw – tair yn gaeth i’r hyn s’yn briwsioni i ddatgelu eu ffawd, dedfryd oes o garreg gan fyd llawn lleisiau uwch, gwynt a glaw eu giriau yn meddalu’r min, dros amser.
Ond ymysg yr holl barabl, mae’n hawdd anghofio sut nerth sydd gan dair fytholwyrdd, fytholgadarn, fytholgraig yng nghwmni oes ei gilydd … Gyda’r wên leiaf, mae’r tair yn sbio arnaf, a chyda cadernid graig, dwi’n gwenu’n ôl.
Tegwen Bruce-Deans, Bardd
The Abergele Sisters
It was a morning of brushing summer’s crumbs from under our feet, for now, washing honey sun from our fingers and harvesting the season’s last smells into dusty jars for another year.
But there was something pulling me away from my usual path, that morning, voices weaved with wind, begging for someone, anyone, to find them. And there they were – three forever bound to their crumbling fate, sentenced to life of stone by a world of louder voices, their words of wind and rain weathering edges, over time.
But under all the chatter it’s easy to forget the might of three evergreen, eversturdy, everstone in the certainty of each other’s company … With the tiniest smile, the three peer down at me, and with stony tenacity, I smile right back.
Tegwen Bruce-Deans, Poet