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Tuesday, the something-or-other of June. In a few days it will be Midsummer, the summer solstice. I've always wondered why it's called Midsummer, since it's really the start of the hot season here in southern California, but never mind. That's the traditional name. Just ask Will Shakespeare.

Every solstice, summer and winter both, it seems as though there should be some special observance. Father's Day and Mother's Day are set for special classes of people, but Midsummer, the summer solstice, is a marker for every creature on Earth, as is the winter solstice in December.

I get up extra early on the morning of the solstice and greet the sun as it rises (or as we turn towards it). It returns my homage by sharing its light and warmth (same thing, different wave lengths). The birds are with me, twittering their greetings, and the squirrels, more active, forage for food and scamper along the branches.

Later in the day will be time enough for appointments, meetings, messages, all the to-and-fro of modern life. In the morning I stand in the light, aware of my connection to the past and the future, the earth under my feet, the sky above, the universe of which I am only the minutest speck, sentient nevertheless.

Alpha and Omega, ave atque vale.

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