The year turns. And we were there to see it

June 21st. The summer solstice. It's eight thirty in the evening and the sun still has an hour to drop towards the horizon to mark the end of the longest day of the year. Boom and I are watching from a vantage point on Incleborough hill on the coast between Cromer and Sheringham. We were here on the same date four years ago when I was writing Tales from Iceni Territory and being up in Norfolk this week, it was the only place to be this evening.

You only have to understand a little about the prehistoric monuments aligned with the sun to understand just how important the solstices, both winter and summer were to the ancient peoples. I always look forward to the shortest day - or rather the fact that every subsequent day has more daylight as the year begins its march from winter to spring. Now as we sit on a bench looking west along the coast, there's just a twinge of sadness that the year has started it's inexorable decline to winter.

The thought is soon put to bed as Boom and I cross the spine of the hill with swallows and swifts circling above. Back in 2022, I wrote about the spiritual quality of this place that had been a rmuch needed refuge from the stresses of life and work in previous times. That sense of place - of connection - is still there and tonight as the year turns, we have it to ourselves, which given the significance of the date, is remarkable in itself.