Each year, when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, I feel something shift. Not just in the air or in the rhythm of nature, but within myself.
The summer solstice marks the height of the light and the start of summer. It’s the longest day of the year and the sacred threshold that call sus into full bloom. It’s also my wedding anniversary, so filled with fond memories. And yet, even as we’re surrounded by abundance, brightness and joy, there’s a subtle knowing beneath it all: from this standstill, the light begins its slow descent. The cycle continues to turn.
This duality is something I’ve come to hold close. The solstice is not just a celebration of sunlight and life, but a reminder than even the brightest seasons contain the seed of descent. It’s a reminder that we’re always living in rhythm, that we’re always expanding, pausing, contracting and becoming.
This year, I feel the solstice more deeply. Perhaps it’s the hear that has already settled in the bones of the land as a heatwave arrives and Yorkshire is declared in a drought. Perhaps its the way my days are beginning to stretch long with family life, garden dreams, and quiet moments stolen under swaying trees. Or maybe it’s in the fact I’ve given myself permission to slow down and notice more.
So this year, I’m honouring the summer solstice with awareness.
What the Solstice Teaches Me
Summer invites us to be seen. It asks us to take up space and to bloom, to create and to connect. It’s an expansive energy that carries us upwards on a current with no view of coming down in the heat of the day. For many of us, this can feel overwhelming-myself included. The noise of the day gets louder, and there’s a pressure to do, to perform and to keep giving. To be seen means being seen when we’re at our best, but also on the days we do not feel that expansive energy.
So I ask myself gently:
- What does full bloom look like for me?
- What am I ready to pause and honour before the turning begins again?
- How can I anchor myself in this expansive energy?
These questions are part of my seasonal practice now that don’t necessarily require answers in a pen and journal way. I explore them with presence.
A Simple Solstice Practice
If you feel called this weekend as we celebrate the solstice, you might mark it with something simple and sacred. Sit in the sunlight and feel the its warmth. Watch the sunrise or sunset, or both. Write a letter to yourself, speaking to the you who saw the quiet and stillness of the Winter Solstice six months ago. Gather herbs and flowers and offer them to the fire beneath a starry sky.
There’s no pressure, no performance. Just alignment with the earth as the sun stands still.
As the wheel shifts and Cancer season approaches, I find myself craving softness. Slowness. Nourishment. I’m letting go of the idea that I need to be at my brightest, my bestest, my most performative. I just need to be. Whole. Present. I’ll live in the moment that the long days offer with no expectation other than to be present.
Watching my son play in the garden. Watching the wildlife buzz around my flowers. Watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky.
This is the beauty of seasonal living. Not perfection. Not productivity but presence.
Wishing you a gentle and beautiful Summer Solstice.