On the Routine and the Awe-Inspiring.

Tonight’s twilight was one of those in which you imagine the universe must be in a very bad mood and having a tantrum. All sorts of clouds there were, pure white cumulus mixed with near-black slabs waiting to spit rain, and every shape and shade of grey in between. And the rain did come, and then it stopped, and then it came again. The wind rose and fell and rose and fell. It was difficult to tell whether the sudden onset of roaring was a burst of angry wind or a plane flying low on its way to the airport thirty miles away.

I went for my walk as usual, of course, bearing the bag of goodies and searching for a horse to be the beneficiary. And as is usually the case, I ended up passing through the wood at the top of the lane in the hope that Millie would be close enough to receive the favour. Before I could find out, however, I was greeted by a sight verging on the apocalyptic.

The track through the wood faces west, and suddenly the intense orb of the sun appeared briefly on the horizon. The whole of the vaporous sky I could see below the level of the woodland canopy burned a brilliant hot orange, while the trunks of the trees turned black in silhouette against it. I might have been approaching Atlanta during the burning, or the conflagration at Manderley on the night trip from London. I rarely use the word ‘awesome’, but this was pretty close.

Millie was too far away as she always is, and so I made my way back out of the wood only to see another startling sight. The eastern sky displayed not one but two brilliantly coloured rainbows, a very big one and a smaller one inside it.

I don’t remember ever having seen a double rainbow before, although I might be wrong about that. But with all the firsts that this year has produced, along with all the unusual weather patterns, I can’t help feeling that something of substantial significance is starting, and that maybe we should be prepared for a white knuckle ride up ahead.