Following the Sun (41 page)

One fellow in a tan windbreaker and a deerstalker cap was especially keen on celestial observations at this site and was setting up a quadrant. He was intensely mathematical in his observations and had charts and graphs and record books of the rising dates of various stars from ancient times onward, and was calculating the solar angle and the like, checking his chronometer every minute or two and marking the time and the angles.

Others were not concerned with the science, but with the holiness of the place. One man wore a silver Celtic cross on a chain around his neck, and there was a small group in Druid hoods and robes, and two long-haired couples in beads and loose, Indian clothing were sitting some distance off from the site, honoring the temple by smoking a sacred herb that they ritually passed among themselves with ceremonial formality.

As the sun drew nearer its descent, the collected few grew quieter, and then quieter still, and by the time the sun reached the horizon, they spoke only in whispers, if at all. I drew apart and moved back to the east slightly to get a good view of the whole scene—the temple, the people, the loch beyond, the small island lying just beyond the loch to the southwest, and the great blue arc of the sky, the black dragon-cloud, and this honored god, the sun, who was now moving almost imperceptibly along the line of the sea, as if unwilling to let go his handhold of day.

The great fiery horses of the solar orb, those who fed on the fields of ambrosia by night, could not be seen, nor could we see the golden, resplendent chariot of Helios. The sunhorse of Trundholm bog was not visible, nor the barge of Ra, nor the Vedic charioteers, nor Sula, nor Sol, nor Surya. But they must have all been there that evening, hard at work, slowly reining in the horses, steering the chariot of the sun ever downward at a decreasing angle into the western sea. Their work for the day was almost over.

Just to the north, as if in reaction to the sun's mighty presence, the dragon-cloud began raising his head and twisting himself into unlikely shapes, transforming himself, as dragons will, into various configurations. Now he was a tower, then he became a hill, and then, as if in surrender, he began to break apart, and moved upward to join the golden, fretted sky, which by now was charged with greens and reds and rays of blue and orange in those places where the cloud had spread out.

And then, in a hushed silence, almost humbled, the great god sun, the source of all life on earth, dropped with his horses into the sea. First his light touched the sea rim, the ball of flame moved downward and distorted into an ellipse, and, as we watched, the ellipse spread out and became a glowing pool of molten gold.

A minute later it was gone.

Acknowledgments

The events described in this book took place in the early years of the Common Market, long before the creation of the European Union and the advent of the Euro and their effect on the customs, food, language, legends, and landscape of rural Europe. More recently, thanks to a generous grant from the Vogelstein Foundation, I was able to retrace the route of this journey (by car this time, not by bicycle). I had expected a great deal of change, and around the cities and in the shops and suburbs much has changed indeed. But I am happy to report that on the rural roads that I had originally followed, especially in the more remote areas of Spain and Scotland, there was hardly any change at all.

I managed to hook up with a few of the old friends I had made along the way, and to these happy few I am indeed grateful for their detailed remembrances of my sojourns with them. I am also grateful to certain individuals with long memories and information on isolated areas in the Hebrides, Andalusia, and western France. In particular I would like to thank Martin Reiter for his extensive field notes on these regions, as well as Margie Wheeler and Randon Rynd, fellow travelers. I want to thank Lawrence Millman for his notes on the Hebrides, Henry Brown for his Bordeaux digs, and Jill Brown for all her sweetness and light. I also want to acknowledge the generosity of Señor Rafael Alonso and the graciousness and long-suffering goodwill of Mr. Timothy Griggs, wherever he is. I extend my thanks to the collective wits of Lawrence Buell, Richard Forman, Wayne Franklin, and Kent Ryden for their comments and advice on the manuscript and the theme, and I thank Jim Kile for his help with the confusing science of astronomy. As always, I am grateful to my editor, Merloyd Lawrence, and her sharp eye, and also John Thomas and especially Trish Hoard and the energetic production staff at Counterpoint.

Were I of a mind to invest inanimate objects with personality, I suppose I should also give thanks to my loyal bicycle, who carried me across the windy machair of the Hebrides, the steep roads of the Highlands of Scotland, the bull-haunted pastures of Andalusia, and the gentle green landscape of the Loire Valley. I still own that old horse and still take it out for a spin periodically, in remembrance of things past.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2002 by John Hanson Mitchell

Cover image by Gordon Morrison; design by Neil A. Heacox

ISBN: 978-1-4976-7536-0

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