CULTURE
Summer Solstice musings
The inevitability of change & the superficiality of belief
Here in the northern hemisphere we are in the midst of the longest days and shortest nights of year. The farther north you live, the more pronounced the effect. I once took a night train through Norway at this time of year and it never got fully dark. In the seats ahead of me, young people playing guitars didn’t put down their instruments til morning’s brightness. The vibe was at once surreal and comforting, a dimness that never darkened but lit by the golden tones of the gentle strumming. A candlelit mood, I dare say.
Tonight I am at a cabin on the West Slope of Colorado. The sun’s been down for an hour and a sliver-thin but bright sickle moon is sinking slowly toward the horizon, its horns pointing towards Venus. But once upon a time, I wrote:
“There, see that?” I say. She nods. “That is Venus. Or what we call Venus. But I know that it is Earendil the Mariner, in his ship the Foam Flower, with the Silmaril upon his brow, sailing on and ever on, in the eons between stars.”
“I can see him,” she says. “The mist is in his eyes.”
“He longs for his beloved, Elwing, but she is the gull above the surf. He is on different seas.”