Hear Time beating on these walls – march forward, forward, forward…

See stones laugh at so many feet – they were building blocks of hills, carried here by Vikings, and humanity is a light burden compared to the sky.

Nature creeps into them.

They protect York’s markets.

They are watched by York’s grandest towers – pause there, for ‘grand’ is a shallow cry in this most mighty of shadows. Few buildings anywhere soar into your spirit like the Minster.

Within it are books close to their 1000th birthday.

Under it were found the bones of the even older Roman building – and the footprints of a dog, running across a Roman roof slate.

The Romans left wolves here, too.

And foxes are enthroned in glass on the great Eastern Window, celebrated in this modern sewing.

The organ notes resound and music echoes with the Minster’s vaulted arches. The tune rolls forward, like Time, like the rolling of the becks in the Vale to the north.

Travel with it, restless under the tempestuous autumn skies.