We are in the middle of summer and I have realised that the longest day of the year passed without me celebrating it.
In other cultures, the solstice is a sacred moment. A day to honour the light, to give thanks for abundance, to acknowledge that the sun has reached its highest point. Here it went almost unnoticed, between notifications and obligations.
I like the idea of marking cycles. Not out of superstition, but because they remind us that life is not a straight line of identical days. It is a wheel. There are seasons for blooming, for harvesting, for resting, for sowing in silence.
At the solstice, light gives us its greatest splendour. But right after, without us noticing, the nights begin to grow again. Nothing stays at its highest point forever, and that is also a relief: we do not have to hold summer eternally.
Today, even though it is late, I want to honour that light. The one outside and the one inside. And remember that, like the year, I too have my seasons.
Now it is time to shine. And also, very soon, time to gather in. Both are part of the cycle.