Bili’r Brôga ymhlith y llygad y dydd

This is the post where Welsh finally enters the blog, carried in by daisies, my daughter, granddaughter, and one wandering frog called Bili’r Brôga.

Comfort and Memory

In the small warm room the clock kept its island time — tick, tide, tick.

Tonight, the candle keeps its gentle vigil, burning for two, though only I sit near.

Across the years, your voice has been a place my thoughts return to — soft, steady, familiar, a warmth that never slipped away.

It began with a book that arrived in 1999, and the friendship that never left.