Summer solstice - Oberon and Titania.

‘Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart.’
A Midsummer Night's Dream, 3. 2
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June, summer solstice, midsummer, the longest day. High summer, only fully dark for those magical, fewest of hours and then… downhill-all-the-way, to deepest, darkest winter. Right now though that seems a long, long way off – so let’s not even think about it.

Call it an irrelevance.

Summer solstice - druids, and virgins, fairy rings, a man with an ass’s head. Such a magical time, light and airy, fragrant and sweet – anything may happen on mid-summer’s eve – breathe it in and smell it strong.

Nineteen seventy-three - another midsummer. Me, fifteen year old youth strolling rugby-muscled, out in meadow, first-ever girlfriend on arm, walking towards the hill. I ruled the world, knew everything - I even had a plan. We walked along the Icknield way, old roman road, Centurion, towards the Chilterns and Chinnor Hill. It wasn’t far – quick cut across the fields, then up along the track - all the way to Pook’s hill.

Puck, of Pook’s hill.

We could see so clear for miles up there.

And wine (German, flowery, and sweet), and a white paper bag of pear drops. Warm. The buzzing of bees and chirrup of hoppers in the long grass all around us, sitting, a chorus of life, as we talked of school (exams were not so far away), and music (Roxy, Tamla too). Everything was so unfair, what Fascists (her) parents were - and how we hated our Saturday jobs (hers in the chemist and mine at the ironmongers). The ground bound sun still warm as the swallows flew, we smiled and kissed. Love? Yes, young and sure, and holding hands we lay together, supple.

Together?
A couple.
A couple?
A couple.
Together, supple, we lay beside the old straight road on Puck’s hill.

We smiled at each, and with each other.

Was it really over thirty-five years ago?

Yes.
No.

We drank our wine and sucked on pear drops, crunching them to teeth sticking gum within our mouths between kisses - and laughed, and laughed, and laughed – holding each other tight these two child people… until the woman came out in her and the potential of the man I might be came out in me.

Hello you… is that me?

Midsummer, solstice, the longest day, a day remembered always - by me, by me.

We stayed as late as dared, and back to fascist parents waiting to pounce behind the frosted door.

She made me leave before the shouting. A new born depth of kiss and look within her eyes that I didn’t yet understand.

Bliss.

So long ago.

And then last week driving fast through the scar where I found her - my first love - soft, and light, and welcoming… when we were there entwined, this road (three laned and real) and almost yet to come - I smiled… so long ago.

So long ago.

Nineteen seventy-three to two thousand and nine, fast travelled to another summer solstice - older, wiser, sometimes tired - but alive and (often) happy.

If I have one wish for mine it’s this,
May they smell midsummer, hold hands and kiss.
And who should ask for more than this?

That girl,
The one that laughed -
The one I sometimes miss,
May she still be laughing now
Where she (old new love) is.