Did my usual pilgrimage up to the top of Beacon Hill to watch the sun come up on the shortest day of the year. It was just me and Craig this time, and its always a gamble as to what you're going to get in terms of visibility. But I seem to be lucky more often than not, and it was another stunner.
We were up there with a couple of local druids, having a chat but mostly there for the view. We all seemed to be on the same wavelength of what was a holy moment, and a time to stay quiet, and when was the time to chat.
What I love every year is watching the progression of light and colours. There's a general lightening first, and then more and more colour bleeds through as the sun approaches the horizon. The best years, like this one, have a clear horizon but then some low-lying clouds to catch the neon pinks and reds and oranges.
Then finally the big red winter sun heaves itself up into the sky. It's always huge and crimson. This is the time everyone falls quiet; you can almost feel it coming. There's an awe amongst us, no matter what beliefs have brought us up the hill. The druids move away to bow to the sun and do their salutations. I hold my own silent vigil and give thanks for the passing of darkness and the coming of God's eternal Light. Craig is content to watch.
The respectful silence continues until the lowest edge of the sun is well up into the sky and the colours have moved into blue daytime shades. Then we head down the hill together for a big hot breakfast.
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