The Solstice is coming up. It’s one of the holidays that tends to demand my attention…I feel weird and restless, and have to go look at the moon more. I don’t have a lot of elaborate symbolic associations with it. I just feel more feral.
The flowery riot of spring has deepened and grown more rich. Spring peepers are long gone but bullfrogs, gray tree frogs, toads, banjo frogs, and green tree frogs sing the song of love all summer long. Wild bird chicks are fledged and out of the nest, trying out their wings and flapping about haphazardly. Blackberries ripen on the bramble. The sky flickers with the fire of frequent summer storms accompanied by torrential downpours, while the woods edge flickers with an answering sparkle of lightning bugs. In Georgia, the heat of summer is ferocious and oppressive, sweat rolls down your back and you are never quite comfortable indoors or out. I am disinclined to go outside after noon if I can help it, at least until the sun goes down. This is the time of the sun’s power…and that power makes the land fertile.
The glare of the daytime is so bright that I shield my eyes and rely on my other senses more. I feel tired and cranky in the heat, but the cool at night wakes me up again and the songs of frogs and hooting owls call me out to listen. The sky is hazy but I can see Jupiter and Venus shining clear. The taste of summer is on my tongue.