Mae'r hanes hwn yn crynhoi'r hyn a brofais rhwng gwanwyn a haf y flwyddyn arbennig honno pan ddaeth yr holl weithgareddau dynol a materol i ben. Roeddwn wedi encilio i'm llety coedwig ucheldirol i ffwrdd o'r ddinas, a thra roeddwn yn pentyrru yno gan osgoi cyswllt dynol, yr wyf yn chanced ar dystiolaeth o greaduriaid dirgel yn fy iard. Felly gosodais gamera gwyliadwriaeth, a oedd, er mawr syndod, wedi dal delweddau o fodau dynol bach tua 15 centimetr o uchder. Fe wnes i eu henwi'n “pukkulapottas” a dilyn eu gweithgareddau bob dydd gyda fy nghamera, ond wrth i'r gwanwyn droi at yr haf a phobl ddechrau symud o gwmpas eto, collais fy ngallu i'w gweld. Mae'r profiad hwn wedi fy ysgogi i ofyn y cwestiwn a yw holl wirioneddau'r byd hwn wedi'u cyfyngu i'r hyn y gall ein llygaid ei weld.
This account summarizes what I experienced between spring and summer of that special year when all human and material activities came to a standstill. I had retreated to my highland forest lodging away from the city, and while I was pent up there avoiding human contact, I chanced upon evidence of mysterious creatures in my yard. So I set up a surveillance camera, which to my surprise captured images of miniature humanlike beings about 15 centimeters tall. I named them “pukkulapottas” and followed their activities daily with my camera, but as spring turned to summer and people began moving about again, I lost my ability to see them. This experience has prompted me to ask the question whether all the truths in this world are confined to what our eyes can see.
