|sent from: London, UK, destination: San Francisco, California, USA|
We have arrived at Solstice. The start of summer, though confusingly called midsummer as well. I stood on a beach once in Northern California while a man performed aerobics on a rock in worship of the setting sun, all new-age energy. The rationalist in me wanted to pour scorn on this man’s actions, although it is no less ridiculous than the insistence that on my Saint’s Day at this time of year, I should go out during the night in the hunt for four-leafed clovers to assure myself luck in the coming year. New traditions grafted onto old ones, which cover even older ones. These days, when the Earth is at its midpoint of yet another circuit around the Sun, are worth marking somehow and is standing on a rock arms outstretched so bad? Maybe he already went through all the traditions in his life and found the belief systems wanting, so here he was on the edge of a continent, grasping at the sun, hoping to catch it before it set.