Autumn equinox 2014

23 September 2014

    I started out at 2.30am as Mr. Reynard slunk through the Close below the street lamp in the cool misty night. Above the mist, Orion was standing guard and Sirius was brilliant in the south east. Mani was not out to light the way but just the starlight. On, out of the valley and up to Oxen Hoath out of the mist, the Tawny Owls were active and vocal; kewicking and hooing and the temperature dropped enough to encourage me to put on gloves and a woolly hat. I switched on my head torch as I went into Hurst Wood and the total darkness. Sometimes a fox would cry, but owls and other noises of the night were about me all the way to Crouch. Of course, time goes slowly in the dark, and it took an age to make tracks through Platt Wood, Gallows Hill and reach the M20.
    It was Tuesday, the motorway was very busy and the noise intrusive. The road lamps and noise broke through the darkness bringing the other world. Then under the motorway, and through Ryarsh Wood, the noise receded and I arrived at Coldrum Longbarrow at 5.45am and I was alone at the sacred place. I sat against a sarsen stone for breakfast and to await Sol. The sky was clear. It became very cold and I was glad of hot soup. Robins began to sing and the sky to the east reddened. The valley was immersed in a dense mist. Finally, from the mist, she emerged; majestic and bold: blood red. Slowly, but surely, she rose into the pale, watched by Sirius, still brilliant in the south east. I toasted her and after feeling her warmth, left in the magenta light, contented.
    From Coldrum, I walked through Trottiscliffe and by the beautiful little old church of St. Peter and St. Paul. This hamlet still has two pubs and on the menu of the George, is suet puddings, yum! From Trottiscliffe to the motorways is all road-work along the lanes, over the M20 and under the M26, to the footpath for Gallows Hill. Now Sol was high and the temperature was rising rapidly. I took off layers and took my time for the return. I sat on a bench in Platt Wood, for tea. Mums and dads were taking their children on a short-cut through the wood for Platt School, chattering and laughing, the day beginning for them.
    I stopped again at Oxen Hoath and sat on Joan's bench over-looking the valley toward Hadlow. There was still a slight mist, but the sunlit tower was thrusting through the haze magnificently. The year is running down; life is petering out. From now on, the days will shorten, the Great Migration will begin and familiar friends will go south and others will come from the north. Although late September, dragon flies and butterflies are still abroad in the warm Sun; a last gasp. The leaves are changing, the crops are coming in. The whole cycle will begin again.