While lauding the “Breathless woods . . .” Lord Byron said, “I love not man the less, but nature more.” This time of year I default to that kind of logic when I think, “Not that I don’t like Christmas, I just like Solstice more.” Western culture doesn’t embrace it as a holiday, more an astronomical, geophysical occurrence but I celebrate just the same. Maybe a thousand years before the patriarch Abraham cut his deal with Yahweh (God), astronomers were keeping track of the sun’s arc and the shadows it cast. At Stonehenge they had stone pillars aligned so precisely, at Solstice-sunrise a thin beam of sunlight knifed between them, reaching the alter if you will, at the center of the observatory. They knew winter was upon them but unlike Yahweh’s mythical rainbow promise, not to drown his creation again, Solstice was then-still is a tangible signpost that days will grow longer and the sun will arc a high path across the sky. It still means that even though you must endure a cold passage, things will grow and food will be on the menu again. I don’t know how they celebrated but I bet they did; I bet it involved fire and something that would pass for music.
It was cloudy all day yesterday and dark early. I took wood shop scraps from my basement to the patio and fashioned a pyre in my Mexican chiminea. Soon the flames were crackling and I was both warmed and illuminated by the flames. The day was mild but turned cold with wind out of the north. I turned my back to it, booted up my laptop and selected an I-tune play list I assembled just for the day. Then I poured two fingers of Peach Brandy in a red enamel tin cup and sipped. George Harrison’s guitar framed the introduction to my pagan ritual, and he sang: “Little darling, it’s been a long, cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say, It’s alright.” I sang backup on the chorus and it sounded good to me. Sunshine songs gave way to my favorite, feel-good artists; Jerry Lee Lewis, Buckwheat Zydeco, Bonnie Raitt, Etta James; all the time knowing tomorrow, daylight will last a little longer, cast a shorter shadow and arc a little higher in the sky than today: Here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright.
It was cloudy all day yesterday and dark early. I took wood shop scraps from my basement to the patio and fashioned a pyre in my Mexican chiminea. Soon the flames were crackling and I was both warmed and illuminated by the flames. The day was mild but turned cold with wind out of the north. I turned my back to it, booted up my laptop and selected an I-tune play list I assembled just for the day. Then I poured two fingers of Peach Brandy in a red enamel tin cup and sipped. George Harrison’s guitar framed the introduction to my pagan ritual, and he sang: “Little darling, it’s been a long, cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say, It’s alright.” I sang backup on the chorus and it sounded good to me. Sunshine songs gave way to my favorite, feel-good artists; Jerry Lee Lewis, Buckwheat Zydeco, Bonnie Raitt, Etta James; all the time knowing tomorrow, daylight will last a little longer, cast a shorter shadow and arc a little higher in the sky than today: Here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright.
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