HIGHER BROUGHTON, SALFORD, SPRING EQUINOX 5.49AM
The previous evening had been spent with a close friend, wandering the haunts of his past life as a student living in the area quite some years ago, him scampering childlike up and down the street where he had once shared a house. He marvelled at the changes, minimal to my eyes, but to him an era now lost and forever altered by passing time.
The area’s residents are now often Orthodox Jews, and we were sometimes passed by men dressed in black coats, hats perched solidly upon their heads, white socks glowing in the street light, quickly returning to rooms lit with sharp, fluorescent light that shone extra bright on this clear, dark night. Maybe they were returning from prayer, their minds now filled with ancient prayers and stories, set down by scribes to make sense of all creation.
We finished our exploration at St John’s Church, perhaps now unused. The surrounding grounds seemed uncared for, and only a few gravestones remained, poking awkwardly out of the long grass at skewed angles. The most recent date I could find on them was from the late 1960s. Streetlamps and a gentle breeze caused shadows of spindly branches to flicker over the stone walls of the building.
This place seemed appropriate to spend the dawn of the Spring Equinox. A silent, unseen occurrence. Earth imperceptibly rotating, propelling us away from winter and towards summer.
A force too powerful to understand, ignored by so many of us in the modern age. And yet so fundamental to our existence.
I was rushed getting there, having overslept, causing me to speed through the quiet streets. As I parked I could see the colour of the new day invading the night sky, and I felt out of control of time. All around me birds were calling loudly, their songs sharp on the still air. Jackdaws and crows barked across the broken ground. An owl spoke softly in the distance. The loudness of this chorus suggested they knew something of importance was in motion. In the daylight I could see buds soon to blossom.
Whilst I was photographing the glinting towers of the new, distant city, far beyond this higher ground, I was startled by what sounded like a telephone ringing from inside the church. I straightened and walk towards the thick walls, attempting to decipher the sound. The ringing continued as I approached, until a crow flew by, low and determined. The ringing then ceased. Confused, I turned back to my camera and the rising sun, unsure of anything other than that I would never understand the world.
