Contemplative Inquiry

I’m noticing the ever-changing nature of the sky, more obvious when it isn’t overcast. Dawn on Christmas Eve has provided sights of the rising sun that the Solstice didn’t.

But what I notice even more is a changing skyscape, as the clouds continually move, interacting with the light. Such a change after the grey blanket of recent days.

At times during today’s sunrise the grey was still prominent, though broken up so that even the grey had a shape. At other times blue sky has been more evident, with the clouds diminished and wispy. I enjoy the energy of movement and change rather than any particular effect. I follow this celestial story into a bright morning.

Midwinter is part of Nature’s variety, and is varied within itself. Mornings like this make me feel alive.

Blessings of the Solstice. May it lead to nourishing and satisfying days to come.

Where I live it is Winter. I look outside our window at today’s solstice sunrise. In these first moments, I’m witnessing a slow, ordinary process, in which the daylight gradually announces itself. The effects, here and now, are subtle rather than dramatic. There’s a little pink in the sky, with a sense of darkness dispersing and a growing light. From this vantage point, I do not actually see the sun.

Nonetheless, I experience this beautiful, undramatic moment as complete in itself and also as marking the return of the light. During the coming days the Christmas festival also affirms new beginnings and the calendar begins a new year.

2025 has been hard for many people around the world. I dare to hope that 2026 is at least a little easier. I will look at ways, however small, in which I can contribute to greater human flourishing. I am glad to know that many other people feel the same way.

Today, going out, I had a strong sense of midwinter – of being in the midwinter zone, the solstice zone. The long nights contribute heavily to this sense. The sun had risen (behind clouds) at 8.10 in the morning and was due to set at 3.58 in the afternoon. For me, less than eight hours is really not long enough daytime.

The daylight experience given to me today was chilly, but not seriously cold. I found myself in a watery space, neither bleak nor frozen. I reached a point where my path ahead was flooded.

Instead of walking on regardless I decided to be still and feel in to a sense of place. It felt rich and alive, in the late morning, though quiet as well. I was glad not to be sploshing earnestly down the path, anxiously alert for slippery patches and potential  hidden obstacles.

Looking around me, I saw the flooded fields of Alney Island. The water had a reflective stillness. The grass was brilliantly green. The trees were bare. It was a spacious and nourishing place to be.

After a period of panoramic gazing and awareness of horizons, I started to look down in more detail at specific surfaces, where floodwater and plant life mingle. In the picture immediately below, the fencing appears to look more influential than it is. In the final picture I find a satisfying balance of earth, water and sky. It is one face of the midwinter season in Gloucester 2025. I am glad I did not cussedly continue down the waterlogged path in front of me.

I have been carefully following the wheel of the year for 2025. Yet I can still be surprised by the moment in which I find myself. The pictures in this post were taken around 3.45 pm on 19 November. I was indoors, looking out, and strongly affected by the quality of light.

It was the light that, on an adequately clear day, precedes sunset. The sunset itself was less than half an hour away. I knew this of course. But I still felt surprised that this was happening so early, in the middle of the afternoon.

I enjoyed the scene itself. I liked the way that this combination of strong pre-dusk light and uncompromising shade was transforming my neighbourhood. At the same time it felt as though this transformation was too speedy for my comfort. Too relentless. In another month it will dark by 3.45 pm. Then, after a brief stasis, the whole process will start again as the light returns. Another year gone, and another year coming. At some level, I can hardly keep up, as time hurries me into an unknown future.

For me, the beginning of winter is marked by a local cultural event, rather than any natural one. This is the annual Gloucester Lantern Parade. This year it was on Saturday 15 November.

The parade began at 4.30 pm, after a carol service at Gloucester Cathedral. In the Anglican (Episcopalian) tradition, this is two weeks before the beginning of Advent. In the secular (shopping) year it marks the switching of the Christmas lights. In the Pagan year it is roughly two weeks after Samhain and five weeks before the Winter Solstice. I was happy to think of the three calendars at the same time. All point to the arrival of winter.

The parade theme this year was ‘Community in Nature’, and the lanterns were created by a coalition of local primary schools and community groups supported by professional artists. This year’s organisers invited us to “think about how coming together as a community is our superpower”.

The parade illuminated, however briefly, the city centre and the principal streets of the old town. As it moved through a dense crowd of onlookers, I could not even see the small bearer of the bird lantern in the picture above. This bird had become a lttle detached from its specific community though not from the community of the parade as a whole. It happily kept on going.

In a world that in many ways undermines community, it was good to see it affirmed, both through the event itself and in the chosen theme.