The older I get, the more time becomes ridiculously fluid. Many days it feels as if I moved to New England just hours ago, and just as many days, it feels as if these past five years have dragged on like decades. Our adult daughter is staying with us for a few days as her partner recovers from Covid, and her presence sends me straight back to very present and strong memories of picking up after her, organizing meals and transportation, living around her schedule.
Oh, wait — that is happening now.
Summer’s come; it’s longer light and deep invitation to enjoy the created world. The beach beckons, and I answer its call. The hummingbirds are thirsty and ultra-proprietary, weeds flourish along with flowers, and school ended for this academic year today. Expectations lessen: mine and others. The pace slows. This is unquestionably my favorite time of year.
Each solstice marks a turning, one toward more light, one toward less. And, it’s not as if the light isn’t there; it is simply nature’s way of organizing growth, and telling half the world “it’s time for this, soon enough, darkness (or light) will return.”
Our world is not as it could be; as it should be. War, disease, violence, division, hatred and fear are rampant. But so is courage, and compassion, and truth-telling, and justice work, and work toward redemption and reconciliation. An odd thing about the human condition is that growth and change can be fostered in darkness, as well as in light.
Here, now, we’re living in the brightness of the summer solstice; a searing and revealing light. May we be granted the gifts of growth and illumination, of revelation and of white-hot courage … for the living of these days.
