It is not technically summer solstice here in Ireland until about 5pm this afternoon. After a week of showers on and off, the sun streamed in as I woke this morning, albeit at a later time than the past few days this week. I have an interval between workshop engagements, so I am pretending that I am on holiday for a week. Which it feels like many days where we live in the bucolic splendour of West Cavan, surrounded by phosphorescent green. The trees are looking fine after the showers and bucked up from the dry spell in early spring. The wild roses are just blooming in the hedgerows. So is the honeysuckle. Driving over to Sligo yesterday on a mission, the verges of the N16 were bursting with dog daisies, a more cheering sight that’s hard to beat. I will be looking out for the bilberries soon, the first fruits for foraging.
Is bright as the dog daisy’s button head,
as abandoned as its splaying petals.
Who would not want to linger in bed
savouring the peak of sun’s life cycle?
Stretch every limb. Lossen ligaments.
Stretch! Be still as the lizard on its rock.
A smile widens across the firmament.
Feast! Even as you pause, stop, and take stock.
The crops are in, ripening in the sun.
There’s still work to do. But now’s time for fun.
Copyright 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.
Midsummer’s night is very fey. Make a wish. Leave an offering outside your door. Say thank you.