Sunday Reflection – Midsummer: Standing at the Turning of the Light

Today is Midsummer.

The longest day. The season of fullness. Roses are opening. Evenings stretch out - and today’s is the longest of them all, at least here in the UK. The birds are singing, finding shade in nearby trees as the warmth gathers.  I’ve just been for a morning walk across the fields with the dogs, as usual taking delight in their pure joy as they run, sniff and explore.

I’ve always loved days like this.

Not because I imagine ancient magic hidden behind every tree (though perhaps sometimes I secretly hope there might be) — but because days like this seem to invite us to notice things we normally walk past.

For thousands of years on this day, people have gathered around midsummer fires, watched sunsets, danced, prayed, feasted, fallen in love, made promises, and wondered what comes next.

And that thought moves me.

Because Midsummer is not only the height of light.

And yet, quietly, it’s also the beginning of the turning back to darkness.

The days begin to grow shorter from tomorrow.

Not in sadness — but as part of the rhythm of the year.

Nothing stays at its peak forever.

Not joy.Not grief.Not youth.Not struggle.

Everything turns. All things turn.

I find something strangely comforting in that.

I wondered if I might invite you to try something with me.

At some point today — or this evening — step outside for five minutes. Although keep to the shade if it’s too hot for you!

Take a cup of tea - or whatever drink calls to you. (If you know me, you know tea is usually my answer.) Stand in your garden, a doorway, by a tree, beside the sea, - if you’re lucky enough to be there at present - or simply at an open window. Stand there alone, or beside someone or something you love

Look at the sky.

Ask yourself quietly:

What in my life is at full bloom right now?

And then:

What wants to grow next?

No need to force an answer.

Just notice.

And if something comes — a thought, a memory, an image, a longing — perhaps write it down.

Midsummer always feels to me less like a celebration of having arrived; more like a reminder to pause and appreciate where we are before the path bends again.

If you’d like, let me know:

What are you grateful for today?

What is flowering in your life?

Or what small act of courage or wonder might you try before the daylight changes?

Let’s walk together for a little while - you and I—this Midsummer's day.

Lucy Singingwolf

Walking the path of love, wisdom, and wonder.