No Nearer Remembering

A few nights ago I was hunting for a book when I was distracted by the clouds, and again today we have had some astonishing clouds as patterns of rain and warm sunshine sweep across the hills. The book I was looking for I did not find and have not found since; or rather I have found it but it was not the book I thought it was. I was looking for a book of Dylan Thomas' poetry as I am constantly reminded of a line of his when we walk through the woods along the old toll road. The muddy woodland stretch connects with a better track which leads past an old Methodist chapel, now converted to a house. The road is quiet and the wooded bank is full of primulas, the chapel old and small with big startled arched windows. Dylan Thomas has a line about the owls hunting low by Bethesda Chapel, and walking the old track past the little chapel - in this English-speaking part of old Powys - always reminds me of the line, especially as there are often owls in the thick woods above the chapel. And having not found the right book I am no nearer remembering the line. But in this instance perhaps the poetry lies in the association, not in the text.