The sun slipped below the horizon and a fire was revealed on the plains as if the sun had burned a hole through the landscape itself.

Still. And a peach melba sky.

Sun spots behind my closed eyes like a string of fairy lights.

The sun slipped from the clouds and the buildings behind me caught fire in the glow.

The sun magnified large as it sank below the hill line.

The sun went down in a torrent of fire.

Each evening I walk the same route through the path in the churchyard, weaving through the graves to the gate at the end and out into the fields. This series of seventeen suns was to be freeing for me, no rules save witness the sunset each day and record what you see. But ritual comes easily.

Tonight it's so still and yet populated with sound. Distinct bird calls. Wings flapping. Squirrels chasing and scattering. Bees buzzing in the blossom canopy. A microlight gliding. A motorbike's whine in the distance. And the crazy skwark of a pheasant. How can the cloud be so impenetrable for that brilliant light? The one that is so intensely bright I can't usually look directly at it! And yet this night it has covered the horizon so successfully.

It was colder this evening. A bitter wind swirled, stirring up the energy around me. Out across the fields a flock of birds rose up vertically before scattering. A pheasant nestled in the long grass by my side. No cows tonight, just the plaintive calls of sheep blown towards me from distant fields. I felt cold and the cloud cover was low on the horizon. I considered leaving but just then I glimpsed the insistent descent of the great glowing orb push through the cloud cover to briefly reveal its brilliance. Usually I wait until the last glow sinks below the hill line, as an act of witness, of homage. But this time, instead, I flipped our roles and whispered "watch me" as I turned back towards the path. The sun kept pace with me as I walked swiftly through the churchyard, the red glimmer glimpsed through the grave stones and out beyond the old red brick wall and silhouettes of ancient trees, until just a sliver was left and I slipped through the gate.

No cloud cover this evening to protect my eyes. This is the brightest it's been. I turn my back and watch the long shadow of me stretching away through the gold lit grass. I turn back and lower my eyes to the fields below. A figure picks her way through the gold lit land. I watch her until she too dissolves into brightness and is gone.

My daughter came with me tonight. She was full of beans and danced around as I watched the sun slip away. Normally it's the wind and the birds and my own quiet that I hear. But this time we brought our own noise. We laughed and teased eachother and I heard the thump of music drift over from the solitary house at the end of the lane. As the sun moved below the hill line we paid our respects and said thank you for the day, each in our own way. I crossed myself and my daughter saluted. We wound our way back through the churchyard. My last born still dancing as the daisies marking our way closed their petals for the night.

This time I felt distracted. Both my girls were with me. The youngest eager to show the way, the oldest full of chatter and energy. We side stepped the walkers coming towards us and I noticed family tending to a grave out of the corner of my eye. The youngest stung herself on nettles and I encouraged her to hunt for a dock leaf. Memories of my nana came back to me, remembering when she taught me to do the same. The girls bickered then ran off down the lane to hunt for cows. I relished the peace and turned to see a fox saunter boldly by. The sun had made its descent already, unconcerned with the commotion below, the last glimmers just visible on the horizon. I glanced up to see a seagull, it's belly flashed yellow in the sun.

Strong gusts of wind push me insistently towards the setting sun. The (almost) supermoon is clear behind me in the remaining daylight. I wonder at what the great celestial orbs might be communicating to eachother along their clear line of sight high above us. Maybe exchanging stories about their charges below, maybe singing unknown songs about our vast universe. I shiver irritably in the cold, glad that it's just me tonight, my girls warm at home. The clouds are interesting tonight - in a clear sky just a few are gathered in lines at the horizon at the exact point of the sun, marking its descent, while a stray plume of grey reaches away to the side like smoke from the greatest fire we know. Unconcerned by the bitter air, the cows emerge silently and move about their business. I retreat. The sun having taken its warmth to new lands, leaving the frigid air and delicate moon in its wake. The wind is still strong, causing whole blossom sprigs to swirl violently at my feet as I hug my coat close about me and stride towards the welcome warmth of home.

The sun is obscured by a thin gauze of cloud tonight and all is beautiful in the mellow light. A cacophony of starlings erupt in a mad argument while others perch unconcerned on the electricity wires. The blue flash of a siren's light catches my eye in the distance and the pheasant startles me with his call close by. It's calm and still tonight and so I linger. A succession of dog walkers come and go behind me. I greet the first and then let the others go by, their conversation drifting around me. I walk back slowly through the dusk, the colours around me muted now, leached out as our light source descends. A few minutes later and all is turned to pink and orange in the sun's after glow. I look behind me and a fox pauses mid stride, backlit by the fire left behind in the night sky. We regard eachother for a time, not moving, before I salute and turn away. Ahead of me the pink super moon hangs, large and paper thin against the night blue.

The first night where the sunset has been completely hidden from view. I've been incredibly lucky with the visibility so far so I took this with good grace. The landscape was as populated as ever although things felt uncanny, different in this half-light, without the warm golden hues I've become used to. The cows came to see me and then, losing interest, wandered on as I stood quietly lost in the landscape and my own thoughts. In the field to the left of me the pheasant was strutting in his usual spot. I glanced up to see the pale face of a fox on the path just a few feet away from me. I took a slow step towards her but she vanished into the twilight. Two birds skimmed the air close beside my head, making their way to the tree up ahead. The creatures of this place are becoming familiar to me. And maybe I'm becoming familiar to them too. I set out for home. The puffball dandelion clocks looking luminous in the gloaming.

It's been raining all day and the evening feels chilly. I pull on my gloves. The earth is soft underfoot and although the rain has stopped it's still dripping from the sodden foliage around me. Discarded blossom petals melt back into the dark earth. A crow glides low alongside me, keeping pace until I reach the boundary of the graveyard. Normally I walk swiftly through the churchyard, eager to see the colours that await before they shift and change and slip away all too quickly. But I suspect that they won't be revealed this night. I step to one side of the kissing gate to allow a couple to make their way through towards me and then I am out into the field and met with grey blue skies. I know the sun is there making its descent as always but it can't be witnessed by me tonight. Tonight is an exercise in blind faith. The cows come up to me and I apologise, as I always do, that I have no food for them. We stand in awkward silence for a bit before I begin to talk to them about this night and seventeen suns and how tomorrow will be the last one. Foxes play exuberantly in the fields far below and the starlings are having their nightly noisy arguement, scattering suddenly along the horizon. I don't spot the pheasant, just as I don't spot the sun. But the blackbird sings her song as I leave the churchyard and my footsteps leave their mark in the soft earth.

I could see the rain in sheets at the horizon, closing in on the hill top. But here at my vantage point it is still and dry. There are no animals tonight, no cows or foxes or pheasants. The loud uproarious birdsong is all around me but the rest is still. I concentrate on the horizon. I'd been watching the weather all day, often overcast and drizzly, wondering if I'd be lucky enough to see the sun on this the last day. Seventeen sunsets and only two of them obscured completely. I stood still for a long time and watched. Just being in the space. Me and the sun until my fingers were numb. The colours spread and changed. It had set. The dot of a plane moving towards the horizon glinted bright like a shooting star. It was a quiet ending. I've learnt they're the best kind. No epiphanies. Just companionship and a gentle continuing. It was just a thing we did together, for seventeen days, the sun and I. Tomorrow I won't stand on this hill and the sun will set just the same.