Welsh Keywords: Trugaredd
From Planet 235
by Manon Steffan Ros
This is what I am like with words:
I play with them, of course, when writing, searching for the rhythm of a good sentence or the perfectly placed single word, alone, accompanied only by a tiny, significant full stop. I read them, always, becoming panicked if I have a quiet five minutes without a book, and reading anything, everything (a hangover, perhaps, from the days of reading the back of a cereal packet and imagining Thiamin and Riboflavin as tiny sparkling particles in my Crunchy Nut Cornflakes). I speak them, perhaps not as often as I should, with my children and with my friends and with the staff on the checkout at the Co-op. I listen to them – this, perhaps, is the most enjoyable way of experiencing words. A babble of playground gossip from my son as we walk home from school. A gently whispered offer of coffee on a Sunday morning when sleep is still weighing my body down between warm sheets. The high pitch of a punchline in the throat of a friend.
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