Solstice in the Marshes

Last year I offered my libation to the midwinter sun at the site of the Arminghall henge: this year, the offering was tea instead of homebrewed ale, and the site a touch... livelier. Watching the sun rise over Buckenham marshes, the roosting rooks and crows suddenly took off, seemingly all at once, from the nearby woods, into the day ahead. An amazing sight to experience and a beautiful sunrise: not the worst way to start what is supposed to be the end of the world...

The Earth Is a Temple of the Sun

Happy Midwinter, y'all.

Midwinter at the Arminghall Henge

As feautured in an entry on May 8th called 'Prehistory and Power,' this site at Arminghall, just outside of Norwich, was the location of a prehistoric (around 3000 BC) timber henge. Nothing remains today - the rings that marked the earthworks of the henge are barely perceptible, and the site was only rediscovered in the 1920s by an aircraft flying overhead, the markings clearer from the air. The electricity pylons seem to be the only things of any real physical note these days.

Nevertheless, I made my way here for 5.30am this morning, to mark the moment of the winter solstice. The Arminghall Henge was orientated around this celestial occurance, after all. Yet whilst ancient worshippers were there for the sunrise, and the returning of the light, I was more interested in being present at such a long-forgotten place of light worship in the midst of the longest night. It was my attempt at paying my respects to the darkness, as much as the light. I'm no religious man, but being respectfully aware of our basic utter insignifance against such overwhelming - if deceptively simple - concepts as 'Night' and 'Day' seems fairly common sense, to me.

I took a few pictures. Using a flash would of course have been totally self-defeating, so here are three, blurry and all, using only the pre-existing light available.

Midsummer Sunrise from Dunwich Beach

Today was the first time I've visited Dunwich, Suffolk. It has held a fascination over me since I first heard of it - former capital of East Anglia, lost beneath the waves. The fact that it shares its name with one of HP Lovecraft's many haunted and decrepit locales gives it an added thrill.

A friend and I watched the midsummer sun break over the sea from Dunwich beach. We weren't alone - at some point another group appeared to watch the daybreak, several members offering a libation to the waves.