Rural communities past and present have always celebrated the seasons, reminded of the natural cycle of the planet by religious and celestial way-points.
The church, a glow of light coming from a leaded pane, darkens, the northern hemisphere turning away from the sun as our planet rotates about its axis. Watching the curvature of the earth giving movement to the shadow creeping over the church, you can see it's effects and almost feel the forces at work.
Leaning against the churchyard wall I watch in wonder, as the changes wrought by the speed our world is turning at, manifest themselves in ways so subtle they can easily be missed, misunderstood or attributed to myth by the less observant.
Beyond the trees, twilight is aloft. Blackbirds perch invisible, their song seemingly even more melodious as darkness approaches. I watch the sunlight seemingly falling away, my minds-eye almost distant, aloof, a real-time illusion showing the phenomenon of gravitational orbits, marrying what my eyes are seeing with what is lost from view. An almost full moon has now risen to complete a 3D planisphere reinforcing the knowledge of knowing my place in the cosmos, bringing both smile and satisfaction.
The church, sundial like, continues to act as a terrestrial way-point in the growing darkness, finally giving way to familiar stars that have guided mankind for near ever. This spectacle of prospect, of unending question, of future quest, is, for a few, the next greatest adventure on behalf of all mankind. It humbles me to look skywards into an abyss of what maybe. I am drawn to it. A slice of humble pie is good for all of us and should be prescribed to those ignoring the sands of time, choosing instead to slaughter the prospects of others.
As I walk home in darkness, Gunner patient with my pondering, I look skywards once more, my life in comfortable perspective. An owl, aware of my passage, hoots a greeting.
5th Nov 2014, 12:15
Photo: Heygates Flour Mill, Tring. Milling still after one hundred and forty years.
26th Oct 2014, 17:15