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Summer afternoon - Summer afternoon... the two most beautiful words in the English language. – Henry James The sun stood still today. It has done that, twice a year, since the beginning of time – and, at least since we have had a common language, we have called it a solstice: sol is sun, and sistere is to stand still. What a thought. Here in the Northern Hemisphere it’s the longest day of the year, while our opposite numbers in the South are experiencing their shortest day. Either way, the sun is literally standing still for a moment, as it gets its bearings and starts moving the other way. Yin, yang – and, any way you look at it, balance. I walked the Paradise Canyon trail this evening and noticed once again the startling blue overlay of the flowers that grow in our golden hills. Like Provence in the South of France, the colors of the earth show themselves brilliantly when you narrow your eyes and let them go out of focus. The blue, layered as it was on gold, on green, startled me today. Sunflower colors; wine colors. This is why God invented eyes. Soon it will be midsummer. In the midst of Kitty’s nightmare travel schedule, we have agreed to cull out a day to visit the ranch this weekend. It’s part of my separate-boxes therapy, my attempts to find balance. It’s agreed: Saturday night, we anticipate a midsummer’s night dream: the soft, sweet purple-yellow dusk over the mountains; thirty-mile vistas; Lizzie's sweet Arabian mare, cantering softly through her last circuits, kicking up the soft dust as she snorts and pulls. A glass of wine before we brush her down; one last Lollyplop and she’s turned out for the night. Smelling the sweet summer air, other wistful thoughts tug at my senses; Puck’s sweet mischief; memories of May Day, Beltane. Maiden memories; sleeping in the haystack, bodies entwined under the full moon. If my hair were still brown, it would be ripe with golden highlights now; as a young girl, my freckles would have been in full bloom. But I am Maiden no more; nay, as Mother, trending Crone, I accept the sweet lines by my eyes. I watch my children cantering the ring, and know that the Horned One will come to me again one day, in guise fitting his status as King. It is no longer so simple. However, whatever his name, be it Finn MacCoul, Brian Boru, Robert the Bruce….or, more likely, and more welcome, a simple, loving man of flesh, waiting to sniff the warm air and touch my brown hand….I know he will come. Someday. When the children run the horses this weekend, I will refrain from the temptation to throw my leg over Treasure’s back and put her through her paces. She will no doubt be relieved. It is, after all, my turn to rest. Instead, I will cross my booted feet on the picnic table and toast the stillness of the sun, as is appropriate, with our perfect Napa whites. Wherever you are, take heed now: it is the Solstice; time to mark one more winter, one more summer. The turning of the wheel; the passing of our days. |
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6/23/2007 8:07 pm |
Excellent writing. Here by the sea.
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