When the body is jaded, terrorised and assailed by the travails of life, just to look at you lifts the spirits. You are a restorer and enthraller, forever alive, yielding much yet concealing of your unending power. Like a stately seneschal, you stand tall. Observing your splendour throughout the seasons, scaling your slopes at various times in my life, I remain bewitched by your presence. You have as many personalities as there are moods in the weather; this is the spell you radiate. Yet you can be brutal; this too, I love. The seismic thrill of nature’s roar, a reminder of man’s paltry insignificance in the wider scheme of things.
Even in the worst of conditions you still give of yourself. How can I ever forget embracing your plateau in a raging tempest, knocked horizontal by the squalling rain, clutching a fistful of earth as a sign of reassurance. The elemental tremors far from being fear-inducing were wildly exciting, a reminder of the forces you have embraced and unleashed for millennia. Shaped and moulded, forever breathing, you are a living being that transcends man’s crudities and vanities. The folly of mankind is no match for the beacon of magnificence you transmit.
Therefore, the least that I can do is sing your praises. You who has given so much. You, who has inspired me with thoughts, such as these, and upon whom I have entertained a myriad of meditations on many subjects. A quickening presence, yet also a peak of peace, where swirling thoughts can be marshalled and brought to some kind of order. But not too regimented, for in chaos there is a latent beauty. Pen-y-fan, I salute you. For your glory and grandeur, your power and pulchritude, your mystery and mysticism, your constancy and certitude. To pay heed to the timelessness of your beauty is my ardent duty.