As I walked out this midsummer's morning I saw bright coins of fortune birl on the glass surface of the sea, and the local fisherman's red boat make wakes. I saw three shages stand on a black rock, like tall thin ministers in tail coats with their bony hands behind their backs, looking out upon the still midsummer's sea for a sign. Maybe this day - when the light is stretched to her fullest, the day the Sun stands still, maybe on this solstice Jesus will again walk towards them over the water. I saw tall pink foxgloves sway ont he grassy steep sided brae over the sea. I saw a thrush on a stone wall, alert, speckled breasted, watching the dog warily. I heard the cry of gulls braided into the accordion music drifting from the fishing boat. It is still. Hardly a breath of wind. As he hawls up his creels, tantalising gulls, petrifying lobsters, the radio plays the sea. Now with some country and western song, at odds with this scene and also adding to it, giving it that dimension of funky celtic blend. Oyster catchers, with young somewhere, make a din. Sand pipers send Flora, my collie dog, on a merry tour away from their young. The bay is alive with bird song, wild flowers, and sea, sky, one fisherman and his radio, me.
Make a wish, she says, the solstice, the flat sea. I'll carry your fortune, I'll transport your dreams ont he solstice tide to a place where dreams are planted to flower the coming year.
Then later fire. Fire and sea.
Happy midsummer
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