All the bloggers that ever blogged are probably blogging the Solstice today. Well, why not, it isn't every day that you get a full-blown Pagan festival to chant about.
I was awoken at five this morning by the sound of somebody, somewhere distant but not too far way, practicing scales on a piano. I glanced towards the curtained window expecting to see the sunshine pouring in but it wasn't. It was almost as dark as night. If the sun was out there he wasn't shining. Perhaps he'd been replaced by a darkling, perhaps the winds had carried him off and left an imposter in his place. Shaking the last of the dreams from my ears I peeked out of the curtains.
'So here it is.' I thought. 'Another Solstice and, true to form, no sun to be seen.'
Solstice, literally meaning the day the sun (sol) stands still (stice), the longest day and the shortest night, the culmination of the suns daily rising, higher and higher until, on this day, it seems to stand still in the sky.
Midsummer, the day of St. John, Litha – a time to greet the sun with chanting, to light the bonfires, leap through flames, drink the health of the honey moon in mead, adorn oneself with flowers and herbs to chase away the devil.
Probably not today though. Looking out of the window, the chords still playing in the distance, I’d never have guessed this day was this day. The sky a silver-grey flat, clouds almost indistinguishable as they scudded across the monotone of the horizon. There was a definite chill in the air and the smell of dampening rain to come later. 'Maybe I should have built a bigger bonfire or picked a posy of
As I reached for my glasses the piano stopped, a final note fading to silence. Maybe whoever it was had been heralding in the day and with the lack of sun had simply given up - or maybe they just couldn't sleep perchance to dream.
Me neither now.
Time to be about and dressed, another summer solstice here, but not for long, from here the nights grow shorter. 'Winter begins its slow return.' My cheery thought for the day.
‘Whatever is dreamed on this night, will come to pass."
Well, somehow Midsummer wouldn’t be quite the same without a smidgeon of Shakespeare. I hope the bard was right though and tonight I dream of winning the lottery. That is, if that insomniac piano player doesn't start up again and keep me from my dreams. A midsummer's dream... now where did I put those ass’s ears?
Ee! There's a definite chill in't air now t'nights are drawing in.
ReplyDeleteStrangely I was far too self absorbed (and slightly mad) to blog about this today. Maybe next year... but it must be quite charming to wake to the tinkle of a piano, and certainly much less terrifying that waking to a Captain Nemo style dramatic chord on a pipe organ. Oo-er... M.
Rebecca Houlton commented on Facebook: w
ReplyDeleteWho practices scales at 4.30am? I wasn't able to climb a hill and watch it rise this year. Instead i lit a flame and shared fruit and wine at 6.16 this evening, the point at which we were at maximum tilt towards the glorious sun.