“The sun is God,” the purported last words of William Turner, sprang into my mind as I drove, seemingly, right into the sun. It was eight in the morning and I was travelling east along the road that follows the the Car Dyke, an ancient drainage ditch dug two thousand years ago by the Romans, from Lincoln down to Peterborough. The sun was so bright I had to squint to see the road clearly. Mist lay in low layers in front of me, and above that, a clear sky. It was through these layers the sun glowed. The mist lay in the distance and I never seemed to pass through it.
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