Solstice Musings

I never know what to do with the solstice when it falls after sunset.

The wheel of the year turned here at 11:32 p.m. last night. I'm never sure what to do with these observances on days like this. Since they're connected with the sun's movement and our perception of it, where the sun is (in our perception) matters. At least in my reckoning of it. But since the sun seems to be standing still for three days, I suppose that we can celebrate for those three days and not worry about precision. Except . . .

Except that the ancients were very precise about this stuff. They even built rockworks that would direct the sunlight as it falls on the earth on appointed days when there would be a seasonal shift. Of course, I don't have stewardship of Stonehenge or New Grange or any of the other rockworks designed to direct the light on the seasonal thresholds. 

I have only myself and stewardship of the ways I direct light as I move through life.

Still, I love the ancient observances that connect us with earth, sky, and space. I am part of all that and feel the connection deeply. The movements of earth, moon, planets reflect the movements of interior space as well. Energy, light and darkness and shadow, cycles and seasons and phases, pathways, descent and rising, turnings, stillness and movement, all are facets of the inner life as well as the outer world.

I remember that summertime was a time of happiness in childhood. There was no school, and the days stretched into forever. The heat broke on muggy afternoons with thunderstorms that moved through quickly. We'd be playing board games or jacks on the front porch, or we'd be lying on the glider feeling the motion as it went back and forth and listening to the rain. 

I remember that my mother took us on adventures where we would discover and explore new things. There might be a day camp for a few weeks, and swimming at the Sheraton. Running through the sprinkler in the yard. There were fireflies. And so many flowers. I remember ice cream cones at High's, the carousel at Glen Echo Park or down on the National Mall. The Good Humor Man and the familiar call of the bells on the ice cream truck. I remember picking black raspberries on the palisades above the Potomac River, picnics at Sugarloaf Mountain, finding crayfish amongst the rocks in the spring runoff pools at Berkeley Springs. 

Sometimes we'd take off for Bethany Beach or for points south for a beach vacation. There were crab feasts with corn on the cob, watermelon, and beer in cans for the grown ups. We'd put down newspaper on the table on the back porch and gather round it, laughing, talking, eating. Fireworks on the Fourth of July. Sparklers in the dark. The military bands played free concerts along the Potomac River.  Watching the planes take off from National Airport. Running around with other kids and having to be home before dark.

I think about the things I love to do now that bring me into a sense of happiness and freedom, and I notice that many of them are rooted in my childhood summertime patterns of exploration, play, and celebration. Sometimes happiness is following a treasure map with familiar markers that lead to new places.  

   

A Hundred Days of Happiness is a daily writing practice that opens a landscape of discovery into my own human experience.

Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012, and each year brings new wonder. She asks big questions of the small things in life.