A Square Metre of Summer
Plus last chance to book a place on my next writing challenge
We’ve reached the point of tilt, when the earth falls towards the dark. Happy solstice. Yesterday I rose at 4am to drive down to the beach at Filey. I took my place on a memorial bench and sat, bleary eyed at first, then slowly coming alive in the light and warmth of the rising sun. I felt a genuine, primal sense of awe, as if I was connected to all the summer solstice sunrises that have ever been. The sun rose over Carr Naze, laying itself across the sea. I’d made a promise to myself that I would witness the solstice sunrise, rather than watching footage of Stonehenge, this year. I had promised myself the experience of magic - the early start, the silent streets, of being awake when other people are fast asleep and of seeing something utterly beautiful. I wanted to place myself before the sun in a ritual of my own making.
There were a few of us down there, a scattering of people taking their places to see the sun arrive on the longest day of the year. Afterwards I came home to the miracle of coffee and a purring cat, my husband softly sleeping, and I set to work and wrote until seven, after which I read and listened to the radio. It was the perfect way to see the longest day in. I like the idea of creating my own rituals.
Summer is a time when I revert to my child self. How I value not overthinking clothes; throwing on shorts and T-shirt and sandals and feeling bare skin against grasses and plants, feeling the soft shush of moving through long grass, the squeal of swifts overhead. Early summer mornings, when the world is fresh and dewy, the air filled only with birdsong and rose scent, there is such joy in the variety of green. Look at this spot, a passageway of cool shadowy green between fields.
I can see, in just a square metre of this little strip of land common nettles, dock, cow parsley, cleavers, hawthorn, elder, sycamore. There will be others too, but these are the ones I can see immediately, and recognise, these are the plants that have been with me and around me since youth. I am not great at identifying plants. I actually thought pineapple weed (if you find some, crush it between your palms and breathe in the scent - bliss) was chickweed for my whole life. But I don’t think you have to be an expert on nature to feel a connection to it. There is indeed a real, nerdy joy in discovering and being able to remember plants and wildlife, but no one needs to own nature, and naming something is like owning it, isn’t it? A rudimentary knowledge of ground nesting birds, and maybe what giant hogweed looks like will probably suffice. You don’t need to know what it is to enjoy being within nature and to feel yourself as part of an eco system. Enjoy the sensory experience.
If I go out further than the boundary of the village I take this, Pocket Nature, Wildlife of Britain. It’s full of photos and descriptions of plants and insects and animals, though if you don’t know what it is you’re looking at it’s difficult to know where to begin looking it up. I believe some new fangled apps are available too, which is handy.
If you’re looking for a really nourishing Solstice ritual, Josie George posted this one on Twitter. Capturing the summer solstice garden in flowers, pressing them, then using them to create hope in the heart of winter.
Book Club News
Last chance to book for the book chat, which is on Sunday, when we’ll be discussing Helen Mort’s brilliant Black Car Burning.
Our Books from the Margin book choice for July is Katie Hale’s poetry collection, White Ghosts. I’ll have links and information about that in the next post.
Last Chance to Book
My next writing challenge starts next week and I will be closing bookings for this on Thursday 29th June at 6pm UK time, so do not hang about.
Spelt News
As the editor and myself work hard to put Spelt 09 together, here’s an update of where we are. Like many poetry/lit magazines we are struggling to stay afloat. Here’s how you might be able to help.
Next week I’ll also have something special to share with you, news of an upcoming free treat.
Until then
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