Darkness turns to day and a gathering of people stand outside, gazing towards the horizon, as if waiting for a message from the Gods. These watchers are willing the sun to grace a magnificent monument created by Stone Age man. No new story, no revelation, no fresh horror, can, for the moment, intrude on a scene sustained by wonder and hope.
Years pass, centuries falter yet Newgrange, the first of the three great passage tombs of Br· na B≤inne to be discovered in modern times, continues to draw loyal followers and fascinated newcomers. So it was again yesterday.
The juxtaposition of darkness and light, death and rebirth add to the cyclical symbolism suggested by the intricate spiral carvings on the stones. Here, there is no room for evil.
Once again, early morning sees pilgrims making their way to Slane, Co Meath, and on to Newgrange, a white mound shimmering through the shadows. Among those present are archaeologists such as George Eogan who has spent a lifetime excavating at nearby Knowth.
As golden light seeps across the horizon, those waiting outside the tumulus could imagine the whispered excitement of the chosen few gathered inside. It is strange how even the most experienced Newgrange watcher feels like a child privy to a secret. People ask the standard solstice question: "How does it compare with last year?"
The clouds seem poised to overpower the scene, yet the sun battles to assert itself.
There is an official dimension to the event on this the shortest day of the year. Invited guests arrive on a visit that is part of their job. Their advisors look at their watches instead of the sun.
A long-haired Santa attends this pre-Christmas celebration. According to the Newgrange guides who tend the site and its secrets as tenderly as if it were their family home, yesterday was a good solstice. There have been mornings when the light cast its glories for longer; yet once the golden ray touches the passage, however fleetingly, all is well with man and nature, not forgetting science.
Inside the chamber we stand, some two metres higher than we did at the entrance, and wonder anew at the craft of the ingenious corbelled ceiling high above our heads. A young Druidic figure asks: "May I pray?" In sonorous tones, he evokes the Goddess Macha and calls on the light of Newgrange to heal our world. Others pray for the murdered German tourist, Bettina Poeschel. "The Gods will protect her," a woman says gently as she leaves.
