Welsh lakes don't sit still in the old stories. They swallow villages, hide kingdoms, give and take back gifts on their own terms. The water remembers everything, and it decides what to return.
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Happy Folklore Friday, and this week, we're talking about Blodeuwedd! 🌸
She's one of the most fascinating figures in the Mabinogion. Created from oak, broom, and meadowsweet by two magicians to be a wife for Lleu Llaw Gyffes, because his mother had cursed him so that no human woman could be his bride. She had no say in any of it.
She's stayed with me for years, and I suspect she always will.
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Before the church calendar took hold, the Welsh marked midsummer not with a feast day but with a slow, unfolding awareness that the boundary between worlds had grown thin enough to feel against your skin.
Fires were lit on hilltops, not to ward off darkness but to honour the height of the light, to carry it forward into the weeks ahead. Wells and springs were visited at dawn, their water believed to hold particular power in the long days around the solstice.
A Blue Moon & a Micro Full Moon on the same night: returning twice, & still keeping its distance. In Welsh mythology, the moon was never just a light in the sky. Tonight, that feels very near.
Drop a moon emoji in the thread if you caught sight of it 🌕
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Happy #FolkloreFriday 🌿
In Welsh folklore, the Cyhyraeth is a disembodied wailing cry heard before death or disaster, a moan carried on the wind that no living throat could make. She doesn't appear, she doesn't linger, she simply passes through the dark and leaves a cold certainty behind. Some say she was heard before shipwrecks along the Welsh coast, her voice rolling in ahead of the waves. Not every warning comes in time to matter. 🌊
Somewhere beneath Cardigan Bay, the bells are still ringing. Cantre'r Gwaelod, the drowned kingdom of Welsh legend, was a fertile land protected from the sea by great sluice gates. One night, the gates were left open, and the sea swallowed everything whole. On quiet evenings, so the story goes, you can still hear the bells of its sunken churches calling out beneath the waves. Some losses echo for a very long time. 🔔
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Image © Roy Carpenter
Morgan Sheppard
Bevan Thomas