I never saw sunrise on Solstice Day. Not even chirping birds managed to disturb my slumber. On the first day away from bells & timetable, I just slept away happily.
I occupied my eyes and heart around the hut from mid-morning till dusk. Yule is a time when gift paper wraps up surprises to be shared and carve new smiles. In the garden, squalid showers and heavy rain obeyed winter sky’s metronome. Sunset begins early. By 1450 our world darkens. By 4 o’clock, the island has sunken in black.
Yuletide lights adorn the spruce Norway gifts us at Market Cross (as well as around a couple of other landmarks) in the town. They seem to defy the anger of the hissing gales, hail and malevolent spirits…Yet, on Solstice Night, all feels quiet. Maybe too quiet for the time of year. It’s just gone five. A good number of the shops on Da Street remain open late on Thursday nights and yet the town feels deserted. Its many dwellers have already made their way home. The bus shelters, filled with laughters, will soon be haunted with footprints at The Esplanade.
The harbour looks serene. The Leirna’s left for one of her daily crossings through the Bressay Sound. The nearby pub, Thule, welcomes its daily intake of sailors & workers. Neon lights glow behind the blinds. Bar tenders will fill night with beer…
A few passers-by hurry to the light wherever it glows.
The town’s main streets and arteries have now returned to Yule spirits, as they recovered freedom of the world.