A woman went looking for limestone somewhere near Wrecsam and hot trees.

Circumnavigating the gulp in the grassy knolls -ideal homes clinging to sides of the hole,

Re-integrating into rocks, dust, and bone under moss sleeves.

A roof is an orange pluck in the state of grey.

White strokes of stone poke peel back into cankles and wrists.  

She films, struggling with the lens. And with general direction.

'Y Calch'

Which She at first translated like some bad flesh and bone google to  ‘The Chalk’ 

Nain, remembered with her cheekbones, rolled up sleeves and porcelain plates for best bearing soft salmon paste sandwiches would not be proud,

her words crumble daily now like impotent teeth and salmonbones from a squeezed anglicised full sized mouth.

She spits out chalk.

Still - She somehow preferred that. THE CHALK. 

It felt more like the whites suggested in the seventies shots that drew her here

To the last face.

She looks around, from each new vantage point.

Even on finding it, She still wasn’t sure She was there, with her quarry. 

WATCH 'Y CALCH-The Chalk *sic'  (6:37) 🎬 👇🏻