Summer Solstice

by

I’m not a fan of the Summer Solstice.  The summer solstice traditionally falls on June 21st.   That is the longest day of the year.  From here until the shortest day of the year, on December 21, every day is a minute or two shorter than the day before .  sun_woodcut1Then, thankfully, each day gets a minute or two longer.    I call the time after summer solstice the long decline into darkness.  I don’t like when the sun sets at 4:00pm.   I start work pretty early.  I try to be there by 7.  If I work till after 4pm that means I can go days without seeing the sun.  That’s not natural.  Humans need sunlight both physiologically and psychologically.  I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.  And that is why although summer is my favorite season that the summer solstice bums me out.  Because I recognize it’s the changing of the seasons.

People have been celebrating the solstice ever since we began to track the sun and celestial bodies.  Stonehenge is aligned to mark the solstice.   To herald in the beginning of summer the ancients used to build bonfires, get drunk, sing and dance.

How in tune are you with the seasons?  It’s not too late.  Make a resolution to sit by more campfires.  Go swimming in a lake or the ocean.  Go camping.  Ride your bike.  Play tennis.  Have a barbecue.  Rent a kayak.  Walk barefoot.  Eat watermelon and spit the seeds.  Plant some flowers or veggies.  Walk your dog or your kids.

No matter what season you are celebrating…GET OUTSIDE EVERYDAY! I thought that this Robin’s egg was a good picture to go along with the one about the shortening days.

p1010011Robin Redbreast
By: William Allingham

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer’s nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away,–
But Robin’s here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they’ll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It’s Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
‘Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow,–
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

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