On the eve of solstice...

As we approach the shortest day, I have a whole new appreciation of why ancient folk so marked the turning of the seasons. After the long days of summer, Britain’s long nights must have surely seemed like the end of the world. With still two days until the solstice, it’s not fully light in the mornings until I reach Oxford’s main street to change buses (around 8am), and if the day is cloudy, it can be fully dark again by 3.30pm.

The upside is that I get to see some fabulous sunrises as my morning bus makes its way past bare fields on the way into town. Yesterday was just such a one – all rosy pink light, with orange tinted clouds streaking a mauve sky. The sun, when it finally rose, was a glowing golden ball and even standing outside, watching it rise over the horizon made me feel warmer. Of course, it didn’t last. It’s now 2pm and the mist that came down at 3 o’clock yesterday still shrouds the carpark outside work. It’s ghostly to drive through, especially now that the trees have lost all their leaves, and their spindly limbs poke through the grey. It’ll be dark in an hour, I reckon. Oh, and the mercury has just peaked for the day… at -3 degrees C.

Melbourne, sweltering in 40oC plus and cloaked in bushfire smoke from fires raging along a 250 kilometre front, seem a long way off indeed….