Pilgrim’s Journal — St Davids: May the Fourth Be With You

I wasn't searching for the next destination.

It had already found me.

While packing away the last few belongings from my cabin at Woodland Glade, something unexpectedly slipped from one of the boxes.

A small brass souvenir from St Davids Cathedral.

For almost nine years it had sat amongst a collection of old decorative pieces left behind by the previous couple who had lived there. They had clearly travelled widely, visiting many of Britain's great cathedrals and bringing home little brass mementoes from each one.

There were several of them, and I'd rarely given them much thought. Yet somehow, as I packed up my life at Woodland Glade, this one had found its way into a box of my belongings.

There's something I find deeply touching about that.

That the couple who had once called Woodland Glade home should, without ever knowing me, end up nudging me towards my next destination nearly a decade later, just as I myself was preparing to leave that home.

Having just spent weeks falling in love with Pembrokeshire, seeing the words St Davids, Pembrokeshire felt almost uncanny.

I didn't hesitate.

I knew exactly where I was going next.

Then another little piece of the journey quietly fell into place.

As I prepared to leave Woodland Glade for good, I'd been wondering what to do with a handful of possessions I wasn't quite ready to part with.

I'd assumed they would have to go.

Instead, my grandad surprised me.

"Bring them here," he said.

"You can keep them at mine."

The relief I felt was enormous.

I didn't want to cling to my old life, but neither did I want to force myself into letting go of things that still felt meaningful.

His simple offer gave me exactly what I needed.

Enough continuity to step fully into this new chapter without feeling I had to abandon everything that came before it.

Then I smiled.

His name is David.

In that moment, it genuinely felt as though my own St David had quietly appeared to help me on my way.

Life has an excellent sense of humour.

I arrived in St Davids and gradually settled into a gentle rhythm.

There was something different about being there.

I hadn't chosen St Davids so much as recognised it.

The little brass plaque had settled the matter immediately.

Sometimes life asks us to deliberate.

Sometimes it simply says, "This way."

Then, a little after I arrived, a notification came through on my phone.

Many years ago, I'd set a recurring reminder:

"May the Fourth be with you!"

Playful.

And now, somehow, perfectly timed.

May the Fourth.

I laughed immediately.

Some jokes are simply too good not to enjoy.

And then I remembered, in a great "AH-HA!" moment, painted across the rear of the Pilgrim's Wagon, are two X-Wings flying side by side.

I'd admired the artwork countless times.

I'd chosen the van because something about it had spoken to me from the very beginning.

Yet, I hadn't connected those little starfighters and the date until that exact moment.

I couldn't stop chuckling as I recorded a video.

Then, almost immediately, I noticed something else.

A rainbow.

Not a great arc stretching across the entire sky.

Just a single band of colour descending towards the earth, glowing softly in the evening light.

It felt strangely fitting.

As though life, having thoroughly enjoyed its own joke, had decided to add a gentle exclamation mark.

I stood there for a few moments watching the colours deepen against the sunset before turning my camera back towards the Pilgrim's Wagon one final time.

Somehow, in the fading light, the Cerulevan Cruiser seemed to dissolve into the landscape itself. The painted forests along its side merged with the darkening horizon, as though it had always belonged there beneath the watchful presence of Carn Llidi.

Everything carried the feeling of a quiet celebration.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing overwhelming.

Just an unmistakable sense that life was enjoying itself.

I think that was the real gift of arriving in St Davids.

The pilgrimage no longer felt like a conversation I was listening for.

It felt like a friend walking beside me.

The little brass plaque.

Grandad David.

May the Fourth.

The X-Wings.

The rainbow.

Together they created a day filled with an effortless joy that seemed to arise from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Perhaps that's another gift of moving slowly through this world.

Not that life becomes more extraordinary.

But that we become more available to its ordinary miracles.

We begin noticing how often life smiles.

And perhaps the wisest response isn't to ask what every smile means.

Perhaps it's simply to smile back.

It certainly felt as though the Force was with me that day.

Whether by chance, providence, or the playful creativity of life itself, I still couldn't tell you.

I'm not sure I need to.

Some moments are already complete.

The joy is enough.