Welsh Journals

One Morning in Carmarthen by GWYNETH WILLIAMS IT was the first chill wind of Autumn, and I hoped fervently that the school bus would not be late. My two daughters did not seem to notice the boisterous cut- ting wind, as they turned aside to pay their usual morning respects to Benjamin Brith, a large and beautiful black spider, speckled in fawn and white, who had made his abode in the angle of the gate. Every morning he would ad- vance from his corner to the centre of his large web, as if to display his daily catch to the two pairs of inquisitive eyes which gazed at him affectionately, for he was by now an old friend. And indeed, it was usually a large catch, for we had enjoyed several weeks of still, calm Autumn weather, when the sun, after dispersing the early mists, shone down from a cloudless sky, and Aeolus had imprisoned the winds for another Odysseus, so that Ben Brith's web was unbroken and a sure trap for the late, unwary fly. But this morning its owner was hard at work repairing the anchorage loosened by the rough winds, and his exertions fascinated the children. As we waited, I watched the host of leaves being driven, rustling and whispering along the road, Like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow and black and pale and hectic red Pestilence stricken multitudes, and I thought how, through the ages, the sight of dead leaves driven before a wind had brought to men's hearts the same chill feeling of pitiful mortality, of death and despair, seeming to one like Angel forms who lay entranced, Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallambrosa, and to another, like departed spirits crowding the banks of Styx, quam multae in silvis autumni frigore primo lapsa cadunt folia.