The light here in our house is abundant, sometimes to an overwhelming degree, as the skylights let in all manner of sun and dusk and morning. It does not filter through a screen or a curtain from the ceiling but rather pours through, a coffer for all that falls down.

This is a poem I found in R.S. Thomas’ collected works, a text I was required to purchase for my Literary Geographies course at U Nottingham. I disliked the other 3 texts, but I found in this one some redemption, and some right fine words and thoughts. This poem, entitled ‘Asides’, is a little sketch of a big world and more than a few offset thoughts. It comes back to itself, as we all do. It encounters Holy Week in its own way, and would approve of freshly mown green pathways.

by R.S. Thomas

And at Carcassonne I was looking
At the cats on the river
Tow-path. How they ran,
Male and female, faster

Than the smoth river through
Hoops of light: so I forgot
The castle and teh long wars
Of kings and princes and

The philosopher’s question, even
My own need for
Conviction. And the mice sang
In the dew, as though they agreed with me.