Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California
When all is said and done, I cannot complain. We have it pretty good. Lingering over a glass of wine a few night ago, after a delicious meal of fried night smelt right off the boat, a bright and crunchy cucumber and snap pea salad, and just a spoonful of lemon sorbet, I looked over John’s shoulder in time to see the last of the evening sun hit the huge yucca flowers in our neighbors’ yard. The blossoms are two months old and faded now - almost forgotten - but for just a moment, they stole the only sunlight left and turned themselves to gold. From somewhere beyond that stand of trees came a chorus of hoots and shouts and banging pots. 8:00. Time to remember how lucky we are to be here safe and sound.
I have had the good fortune to spend two Solstice nights in northern cities that know how to celebrate the longest day of the year: Leningrad, in 1990, where we saluted the orange half-light with Victor’s vodka, cool and plentiful, until the sun began to rise again; and Paris in 1993, a generous, beautiful city that hires musicians of every stripe to entertain the citizenry on various corners and beneath my window until well past my tired, working bedtime. They even provide a map. I wonder if there will be music there tonight.
A headline this morning said that due to the virus, the Solstice at Stonehenge has been cancelled. Further reading confirmed they meant the human celebration, not the light. I suppose if you tune in to the live stream - yes, they actually have one - you’ll have to focus your attention not on the ceremony this year, but on the light, the glorious, lingering light.
(This one is for my mother who always noticed and delighted in the evening light, and remembered without fail how lucky she was to be alive)
Happy Solstice.