Boots in the wind, thunder like feet
Tima stirs under her lion-sheet
The night tiptoes in, wearing its roar
She pads across the soft-matted floor

My hand finds hers before she can ask
Mam lifts the covers, no need for a task
She wriggles between us, breath warm and shy
Mam whispers “Dw i yma. Dim byd i ofni.”

It’s cwtsh o’clock, the storm can wait
Snuggled up close behind the gate
Wrapped in arms, under soft night thread
No monsters live in this bed

Morning is slow, soft light on her cheeks
She hides in the covers, and barely speaks
“You snored like a dragon,” I say with a grin
She giggles, then pulls Mam's jumper in

“I just came in... to check the rain.”
“Of course you did,” Mam laughs again
Toast in the kitchen, the kettle sings
Peace held together with butter and strings

It’s cwtsh o’clock, with tea and jam
A hug on toast from Dad and Mam
A moment, a glance, a knitted sock —
That’s all it takes to turn the clock

We walk the Twmp in the Labour Day sun
Mam plants seeds where the hill has none
“For the bees,” she says, “and the dreams we keep”
Tima yawns, but she doesn’t sleep

I carry her up as the wind leans low
“There’s someone big and quiet below”
She places her ear on the mossy stone
“Bran’s still here — he just sleeps alone”

“He heard the storm,” she softly said
“Maybe even giants need a bed.”

It’s cwtsh o’clock on a mossy spine
Even the hill knows the warmth of time
A mountain hug, a seed, a sigh —
Even Bran’s heart breathes the sky

Eira arrives with paint-stained hands
They draw up castles and mountain lands
A bear with wings, a fox that grins
A moon that cwtshes everything in

Evening comes like a lullaby breeze
They fall asleep in a pile of knees
Mam tucks the blanket, brushes their hair
Says “Cwtshiau always find you there.”

It’s cwtsh o’clock, again, again
At midnight, noon, or half past ten
It’s not on clocks, or written down —
It’s when love’s there to wrap you round

“I keep one for you in every room.”

Cwtsh o’Clock

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Cwtsh o’Clock

Dancing salamanders