Longer, lighter days on the way

It's now officially winter in the Northern Hemisphere, thanks to the arrival of solstice -- 'sun stop' the actual meaning of the word. 

While the sun certainly doesn't stop, the hours of darkness now ease, and by January we'll likely be noticing a slightly later sunset (and if you're among those who get up earlier than I do, an earlier dawn). 

With all the dark times we've recently been experiencing, this Solstice seems like a day for celebration, as I for one, am looking forward to brighter times. 

Return of the light

For a few minutes yesterday the sun managed to cut through the clouds just long enough to make a small splash of light on the ocean at White Rock. I felt lucky to catch it, as that little spot of brightness didn't last for long.

And now today is when we observe the Solstice, the day the sun 'returns' bringing us more hours of light, the joy of what we think of as longer days. 

In truth, twenty-four hours is all that any day gets, but oh, that precious light--what a difference it can make to how we live and how we overall feel--I suppose a natural kind of solar power. 

Sunset here today was 4:16 pm and won't move even a minute forward until Saturday. Still, it's good to know we're on our way to longer days and more of that beautiful light. 

The turning of the tide

Today is the last day of spring, officially, as tomorrow evening (8:32 pm PDT) will be solstice. Really, it's hardly felt like spring of late, more like a long, extended winter. Altogether too many bad things have been happening, including covid deaths. The latest, and we certainly hope the last of these, was the husband of my sister-in-law Sophie, who left us at the end of January. Soulmates perhaps with husband joining his wife. It was a bit as though one might have called the other. 

But yesterday, walking on the beach when the tide was almost exactly at its lowest, along with a glimpse later on of the waxing moon, gave me the feeling that the tide is turning. 

And maybe today, officially recognized as Juneteenth, will really be the start of shifted thinking. 

Statues of colonizing figures are coming down, an action that stirs mixed feelings in many. 

Indigenous people are finally being given the chance to take charge of the forests in B.C. Whether this action will take place in time to make a substantial difference, well, we'll have to see. 

Still, for a change, partly because I and most of my family have now received two doses of vaccine, I am finally starting to feel a bit more hopeful. 

Neighbourly

The other day, the doorbell rang -- an odd occurrence these days. One of my neighbours was standing on the deck with a mask on her face (but of course) and a gift in her hand. She'd noticed that we still had (have) a pumpkin out front and figured it was time for us to shift seasons. 

She brought us this lovely little wreath she had made. To match the "Peace to all who enter" flag by our door, she made it in the shape of a peace sign (hard to see, as it's now interwoven with the black metal knocker). 

Besides getting me into a little bit of the spirit, the wreath has made me think about just what this year's Christmas will be like. 

It doesn't look as though we'll be able to have friends or family over for any kind of celebrating (not even the traditional Solstice celebration), as with rising numbers, we all need to be vigilant towards keeping safe. 

So instead, I plan to make up tiny gift packets for my neighbours. I'll leave them on doorsteps and pretend that Santa's responsible. 

We can all only hope that this year's Christmas with its restrictions and worries is one we'll never have to observe the same way again. 

Pull of the tides

For years I've had a tradition of trying to see the magical light cast on our front door by the Solstice dawn shining through a little stained glass window. This year, both mornings I tried (even the morning that wasn't officially Solstice), I missed it -- or it was too cloudy for the bright light to do its trick.

Even though I don't quite understand how the 'bulging ocean' phenomenon works, I am a longtime observer of the tides, especially the big ones that we see in summertime (or are those simply because we go down to the beach more when the weather's nice?).

The image above, a bit crooked though it is (apologies, I never make adjustments to the photos I post) gives you an idea of just how far out the tide goes when summer begins. It looks as though you might walk halfway to Vancouver Island. All of this is complicated by the pull of the moon, even though the last full moon was June 17th, days before Solstice.

I'm not the only one who likes knowing when the moon is full. This week I read that Neil Young, one of my favourite songwriter/musicians only makes recordings three days before the full moon. Apparently, he believes that's when his creativity is at its peak. Something more to watch for before the next time it's full.

Like I said, I don't really understand it all, but enjoy paying attention to the interaction between sea and sky. Always something to see, always something to wonder at.

Comin' back

Once again it's time to observe (and celebrate) the return of the light, an observance that goes back to a past much more ancient than Christmas. Just imagine the significance of someone realizing the turn of shadow that must have meant the sun, with its warmth, was coming back again.

After so much discouraging news this autumn (especially with yesterday's turn of events in Washington), we need all the light we can get.

It's a sign

...that summer is well and truly here. No more excuses for using the dryer when I can do this in the backyard.

Solstice arrived at 3:07am -- at least in my time zone, Pacific Daylight Time. This makes it official: summer is well and truly here.

Celebrations vary, depending on your beliefs. Of course, for many, it's just another day.

This year there's at least one group who believes this solstice marks the coming of the Rapture, the return of Christ to take believers up and into the heavens. They've determined this using various numbers -- mostly the number of days since various persons died: the religious leader Billy Graham died (120 days), Stephen Hawking (99 days), even Christopher Hitchens (6 years, 6 months, 6 days).

Despite all their tallying of numbers, I'm not holding my breath. Because, really, who can say what any particular day may bring?

But just in case, I'll be set. And at least I'll have sweet-smelling sheets.

Berry beautiful days

Tuesday was Solstice, so that means ever since that night it's been summer.
As if to help us celebrate, the raspberry canes offered up the first of the year's fruits that day -- two perfectly red raspberries -- ripe and delicious.

Yesterday, the first full day of summer, was also National Aboriginal Day. Again, the berries presented a way to celebrate. We'd gone out to Brae Island Regional Park, a park on the Fraser River that also bounds the lands of the Kwantlen First Nation.It seemed like a great place to celebrate the day and also enjoy the weather. While on our walk there, we found that the salmonberries were ripe, so had to pick a few of those for a snack.

I love the way the berries change colour as they ripen, just the way their namesake does, going from pale orange to a fiercely bright red.

They're a close relative of the cloudberry. In fact, some contend that's just another name for salmonberry. Aboriginal people used to whip the berries into a froth and serve it as a treat -- a kind of 'ice cream'. Name-wise, another close relative of this berry is what they call bake-apple in Newfoundland. Whatever the name, a wild berry fresh off the bush is a treat to be savoured.

As for tomorrow's berries, the morning is time for another round of picking ripe strawberries. And maybe when I get home from the fields, I'll do another round of pruning towards my end-of-summer harvest of the blackberries.

On with the light!

Yesterday marked the Solstice -- the first official day of winter for those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere. For the rest of the planet, it's now officially summer, and time to crank up the barbie, not the furnace.

It also would have (should have) been Frank Zappa's 76th birthday. A friend recently sent me a link to a bizarre performance of Frank playing a bicycle as part of one of his fantastic compositions.

But even more bizarre than making music on a bicycle is the raft of 'fake news' we've seen of late. Yesterday's example was a widely circulated story that apparently had no scientific basis, claiming that this year's solstice would bring "the longest night in 500 years." While the hyperbolic nature of the headline should have been enough to raise caution flags, many sources (including plenty of supposedly trustworthy news sites), gave it a prominent spot in their coverage of the changing of the season. I can only hope the announcement that solar energy is now cheaper than wind power isn't another such made-up story.

I suppose 'fake news' is merely an offshoot of the term that's been deemed by the Oxford Dictionary as word of the year: post-truth. That word may indeed be all-too-relevant for the times in which we live, though I'm more inclined to go with Merriam-Webster's word for the year: surreal.

Who was it -- supposedly the ancient Chinese -- who gave us the curse: May you live in surreal times.

Or, if that doesn't sound quite right, let's choose a blessing instead: Let there be light -- and let there be solar power to provide it.

I wondered

...about the name for tonight's moon, the one they're calling the 'strawberry moon'. I like the idea of it being the time for picking berries. Already, the back yard is offering enough raspberries for daily eating and even a few strawberries as treats.

But when I went outside and took a photo of the big solstice moon in the sky, the camera seemed to add its own strawberry garnish around the moon. I never understand these tricks of the light, though I always appreciate them, especially when they arrive on the day of solstice.

This coinciding of a full moon with solstice is apparently quite a rare event, one that won't occur again until 2062. In other words, it's one that most of us will likely never see again.

It officially turned into summer this afternoon, and even the garden seems to be in agreement.

New light

Contrary to what a number of sources are reporting, this is the day when Solstice occurs in most of North America. Quick reads may suggest otherwise, as most of them seem to be citing the 22nd without noting that as a Greenwich Mean Time (okay, UTC) -- in other words, when it occurs in western Europe.

Whenever it might occur, the light won't be sudden, as we gain only seconds each day as the earth turns us toward the next seasonal marker, the Vernal or Spring Equinox.

Still, the change in light will start being noticeable soon, for sure by the time the new year arrives.

But even beyond the hours and minutes of sunlight, I am grateful for the other new light that feels as though it's shining on us -- the light of welcome being shone on the refugees arriving from Sudan, the light being cast on the Inquiry that will finally be held for Canada's lost and missing women, the light of scientific knowledge being uncloistered.

Let it shine!

Summer bed, summery dreams

It's official. As of last night, when we passed the mark of Solstice, it's summer.

For us, summer means we set up our tent and sleep in the little clearing in our yard. Home-camping, I suppose. All that fresh air makes for great sleeps and wonderful dreams, even if the birdsong does seem louder in the morning.

Around here, it's felt like summer for weeks -- strawberries have come and been, raspberries are ripe, even the blueberries will be ready soon.

Yesterday was also Canada's National Aboriginal Day. To celebrate, our Sunday dinner was a little out of the ordinary: venison, turkey, wild rice salad, corn and (as just about always), green salad from the garden. Served with plenty of gratitude and family in attendance, it felt like a great way to start the season.

In darkness

It's the time of year when the darkness seems to want to take hold. Not only on the sky, but on life itself.

The light has been elusive, with today's sun finally rising at 8:01 and then setting again at 4:14. How many people spend their entire workday inside and miss the few hours of light? Go to work in the dark, come home in the dark, do it all over again the next day.

It hasn't helped the mood of things that government officials seemed to be running amok, out-Scrooging Scrooge with their meanness. Immigration services grabbed a man who'd spent the past 37 years of his life as a contributing community member on a small BC island. That story has at least seen a temporary resolution.

And though he's now apologized, when he was asked about child poverty, Minister of Industry James Moore remarked that it probably wasn't his "job" to feed his neighbour's children.

Another story -- and one that unfortunately still remains unresolved -- is that of Rodney Watson. He's the US war resister who's been in 'sanctuary' since September 18, 2009.

For being the season of supposed generosity, it's hard to see much of it in action.

Maybe with Saturday's Solstice, the light will be begin to return on more fronts than merely the sky.  

Envisioning

Face it. It's been a dark week. All those little coffins. Senseless.

 

But tonight, while most of us in this part of the world are sleeping, the solstice will occur. Once again, the sun will appear to turn that proverbial corner in the sky, bringing us a little more light each day as we move again towards summer.

 

Inspiring even more hope than moving towards the light and warmth that the changing seasons bring is the belief that we are moving towards social transformation. I'm envisioning 2013 as the year when we too will 'turn that proverbial corner' and begin to see the light about how each of us can help bring about the changes that need to be made. 

Solstice early, solstice celebrated

Readers of this blog will know I usually post something in observance of the Solstice. I often refer to the ‘sun angel’ who appears with first light on my front door. This year, I was caught a bit off guard by the longest day arriving a day earlier than I’d expected it, so wasn’t up to take that dawnish photo. Still, the afternoon sky held its own version, an image I like to think of as a ‘sky angel’.

As far as the technical aspects of Solstice go, others can explain it much more clearly (and more thoroughly) than I can. To learn more, click on this link to the brainiacs at National Geographic.

Because this longest day has also brought some very welcome (and needed) sun and warmth, I’m tossing in this little poem, part two of a triptych of mine.

Hope is

an orange balloon
tied onto a skinny wrist

lifting
ever so slightly

lifting

Return of the light

In this time zone (PST) the winter solstice occurred twelve hours ago. From here on in, so long as the clouds aren't too thick, there'll be more light in the sky each day, leading us into spring towards summer.

Those of us who observe the Solstice aren't the only ones lighting our homes. The menorah candles are casting light for Hanukkah (Chanukah); trees and windows and eaves bear coloured lights.

These traditions seem to be so ingrained, it's almost as if they're part of our genetic heritage. But whatever reasons we have for illuminating our homes, light brings hope and joy to our celebrations.

Whatever you choose to do this time of year, enjoy!

To mark the Solstice

The sun peeked out this morning, so we packed a lunch and headed for the trail up to Avalanche Lake. We weren’t the only ones with the same idea, but there was plenty of room.
I knew that today marks the sun’s highest point, and that solstice would occur in this time zone at about ten minutes to noon.

I’d worn my watch, and as the time drew nearer, I started looking for some way to mark the occasion (if you’ve been to this blog other years, you know this is one of my traditions). And then, with hardly a minute to spare, there it was.

Who knows who might have built this little tower (I suspect a cooperative effort, with many contributions) or how long it might have stood. Or why they chose that particular spot of ground.

I just know that it appeared at exactly the right time, and can’t help but think it must bode well for a wonderful summer, although as I'm to learn the next day, not everything is as perfect as it seemed today. 

Return of the light(s)

Just over twelve hours ago, the earth started to pass between the moon and the sun, and a magical lunar eclipse began. Magical because totality occurs on the same day as this year's winter solstice. Apparently, the convergence of events hasn't happened for a few hundred years.

Anyway, when this special eclipse started, I was disappointed, because the sky here was cloudy. Still, because I knew what was going on up there, I thought about it, imagining what people long ago must have thought about such an occurrence.

And then just before midnight, the sky opened up, revealing a dusky orange moon, with only the barest fingernail crescent of bright light on one side. Again, I thought of those people from long ago and suspected they would have been tossing more fuel on the fire -- logs at least, if not a sacrifice of some sort.

Just after twelve, when the moon was about to go into full occlusion, the clouds returned, shrouding what showed of the moon. When it's visible but not reflecting light from the sun, it's easy to see that it's really just a big rock. Still, a pretty magical one.

About twelve hours from now will be the official observance of this year’s winter solstice, so I'm in my element. Magic in every direction. And we'll be on our way to having the light come back...

As for the lights above, they're from our little hibiscus trees in holiday regalia, with the camera trying to move as fast as the spinning earth.

Happy Solstice celebrating!

Solstice, belated

Even though Solstice arrived here at 4:11am yesterday, the angel who usually announces it for me was late.

Okay, she's not really an angel (though who really knows what those creatures might be?), more an inspiration from a movie I loved when I was a kid. The story referred to a character named Arne Saknussemm, apparently a fictional alchemist. Since then, Saknussemm's apparently become a kind of cult figure, as now he seems to even have his own Facebook page.

Anyway, in the story of the film, he'd left a coded diary, one that revealed the route to the earth's core. The clue to discovering the passageway? Go to a particular volcano (luckily, one that was nicely cooled down) and watch for where the first beam of light falls on the summer solstice.

The idea isn't original. After all, it's what the design of Stonehenge is all about. That the dawn's light will shine in a certain spot on Solstice. A big calendar made of stone, one that never needs to have its page (or for that matter, batteries) changed.

My 'angel' is a lovely fluttery light that occurs when the first beams of sunlight come through a stained glass window in my living room. She usually lands smack dab in the centre of the door at just about 6:30 on Solstice.

This year, the morning was too overcast, but at seven -- and for only a few seconds -- she appeared. Thankfully, I guess that means we'll be getting a summer after all. Even if like my 'angel', it appears to be a bit late in arriving.

Return of the Light

Sunset today was just about half an hour ago -- 16:16.

There's still a bit of light in the sky, a sign of things to come.

Diwali, Christmas, Hanukkah – so many autumn and winterfests are based in celebrating the Light.

The one I love best is Solstice. How remarkable that someone noticed this as the day the light would start coming back.

One of the first times I realized the power of the Solstice was in a hokey old movie, Journey to the Center of the Earth. That was the summer solstice, still. It mattered where the sun was.

Today has been a turning point on a couple of other fronts too. Looking forward to the Light coming back for all of us.