Swaling

In quiet spring we’d come 

to fire the gorse 

passed stone-jammed walls 

through worried sheep 

displaced like waves

to the incline

where we’d pause

you’d talk 

of falling rocks. I watched 

your hands remember 

pulls and yanks on ropes on levers

on and on to the Big Stone 

where you showed me how

with a handful of heather lit 

pushed in to clear the way.

Gofalus you’d whisper 

to the clear blue air 

and watch and wait and share 

a flask. Your wool coat smelled 

of rain and smoke.

We set the mountainside on fire.

Flanked by sheep 

in quiet spring I come again 

to pass the incline’s scattered slate

to drink from the flask

as rain drips down my coat 

bones cold skin dank. 

Remember 

new growth waits 

Gofalus whispers

I light the downhill edge.

On common grazing land, gorse (and heather) is set alight deliberately as part of traditional land management. This ancient practice of controlled burning is known as “swaling.”

Gofalus = careful (pronounced go-VAH-liss) Welsh