HOSPITALITY
Come with me to Tymawr, where I have found
a spreading olive tree in the house of God—
the ideal secluded tree to hang a hammock.
Two stout branches at the perfect height.
Abeam, a mossy place to rest my head.
Above, a lavish canopy of leaves might
shelter me from sun and God willing
showers, should I ever take the risk.
TWO LEYLANDII
This morning I had the strangest sense
the two Leylandii beyond Our Lady’s Orchard
were about to wake, unfold their arms and shake
their shaggy heads, unbend their knobbled knees,
gird up their skirts, peck a parting kiss
and stump off to their day jobs—
or if they weren’t, were simply glad to squat
merged in each others’ congenial greenery.
STATIONS OF THE CROSS
Fifteen tapped from all the trees tell
the winding tale of inhumanity. Grief and fear
the world’s daily companions on this long route
around the convent grounds. Just so.
The line separating good and evil passes
right through every human heart.
The Leylandii stand too for Station 14
—the Cross of Inhospitality—
minding all without a place to turn.
The end is close to where it all began.
THE STUMP
Even this mouldering stump may serve
to lift up a crucifix—a small stone frieze.
Jesus is marked out
through the camouflage of moss and weather
by his hands, huge and welcoming.
AND THE DAMSONS
keep on cropping. Pail upon pail.
How on earth could one small tree bear
such a heavy load of dark
sharp-sweet tears?
Clare Bryden “Heartwood”, Advent Newsletter / Cylchlythyr Adfent, Tymawr Convent, 6 December 2025.
Written while on retreat at Tymawr Convent in September 2025, responding to some of the many trees in the grounds. Feature photo is of Campo Santo at Tymawr – the oak, the crucifix, and the autumn crocus.
“I am like a spreading olive tree in the house of God.” — Psalm 52.8a (Common Worship)
“The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart.” — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, “The Gulag Archipelago”