No. Of course Kahlil Gibran didn't visit Newborough beach. However, the splendid bleakness of Newborough in winter is brilliantly represented by a passage in his 1908 book Spirits Rebellious, which I relay below, followed by a few bleaker-than-bleak photos of the sands. If you squint at the photos, you can see the Snowdonian mountains in the background, merged with the agitated horizon of the sea. Naturally, any visit to Newborough necessitates a trip to the burial chamber Bryn Celli Ddu, which is just a stone's throw away by car, and perfectly in keeping with the "weary days and long nights" of its dark womb.
Winter came and brought heavy snow and strong winds; the valleys and the fields became empty of all things except leafless trees which stood as spectres of death above the lifeless plains. Having stored the products of the land in the Sheik's bins and filled his vases with the wine of the vineyards, the villagers retreated to their huts to spend a portion of their lives idling by the fireside and commemorating the glory of the past ages and relating to one another the tales of weary days and long nights.
The old year had just breathed its last into the grey sky. The night had arrived during which the New Year would be crowned and placed upon the throne of the Universe. The snow began to fall heavily and the whistling winds were racing from the lofty mountains down to the abyss and blowing the snow into heaps to be stored away in the valleys. The trees were shaking under the heavy storms and the fields and knolls were covered with a white floor upon which Death was writing vague lines and effacing them. The mists stood as partitions between the scattered villages by the sides of the valleys. The lights that flickered through the windows of those wretched huts disappeared behind the thick veil of Nature's wrath.
Fear penetrated the peasant's hearts and the animals stood by their mangers in the sheds, while the dogs were hiding in the corners. One could hear the voices of the screaming winds and thundering of the storms resounding from the depths of the valleys. It seemed as if Nature were enraged by the passing of the old year and trying to wrest revenge from those peaceful souls by fighting with weapons of cold and frost.
From Spirits Rebellious (1908), Kahlil the Heretic (Part II) by Kahlil Gibran.
These offerings were left on the altar stone at Bryn Celli Ddu. Blessed Be.
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