Summer Stars & the Longest Day
A solstice reflection on rhythm, beauty, and poetry
It happens every year, quietly and reliably — the longest day. But somehow, it always feels like it sneaks up on me.
The Summer Solstice marks a turning point. Even though we’re just beginning the season of warmth and bloom, it’s also the moment when the light reaches its peak… and begins its slow retreat. I do feel a bit conflicted about that - but there it is, the natural order of things.
I think of this day not as a celebration of Summer’s start, but as a soft pause. A chance to catch my breath and notice how the light rests in the garden, how the season shifts, how the days are full and long and brimming with life.
In the Northern Hemisphere, the solstice usually falls on June 20th or 21st. This year, it lands on Friday the 20th. Technically, it’s when the sun reaches its highest and northernmost point in the sky — a bit of astronomy that grounds me in the realness of it all.
But what I love most about this turning is the way it invites me to feel time, rather than track it. It reminds me to slow down in the evenings, to sit outside just a little longer, and to mark the season in some small, personal way.
A cup of tea under the junipers. A walk at dusk with Ibis-the-yellow-lab. A peaceful picnic in the local forest (here’s my Picnic Musings post from earlier this week).
I don’t do anything elaborate — no big rituals or bonfires. Just a moment of awareness. A moment to say, yes, I see you, Summer. Welcome.
Growing up in Sweden, ‘Midsommar’ was something we celebrated with flowers in our hair and the sun still hanging in the sky at midnight. It was joyful and earthy and beautifully communal. And while my life here in Arizona now is a world apart, that reverence for light and season has never left me.
The poet Carl Sandburg once wrote:
Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars,
So near, a long arm man can pick off stars,
Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,
So near you are, summer stars,
So near, strumming, strumming,
So lazy and hum-strumming.
From Smoke & Steel, 1920. Mr. Sandburg was an American Pulitzer prize winner who’s parents were Swedish. He lived in North Carolina, and his home is now a national museum.
However you choose to honor it — or even if it simply passes through your calendar unnoticed — I hope you feel the invitation of this season to be present, to rest a bit more often, and to soak up the long light while it’s here.
Wishing you warmth, stillness, and a little wonder on this Solstice weekend.
With contentment & possibility,
