The internet has exposed me to lifestyles and philosophies that are not represented in my daily life in this small northern town. For instance, in real life I do not know a single solitary neo-druid or wiccan. Based on the number of people who commemorated yesterday's summer solstice, there are LOTS of devotees of alternative religions in my blog roll and twitter stream. And so long as they don't come knocking on my door trying to convert me, I'm not judging their choices. Publicly, anyway.
"It's going to be winter soon," is the comment my father traditionally makes the day after the summer solstice. Because he -- like I -- enjoy Canadian winters. Also because he -- like I -- find it amusing to make people cry.
My singular annual ritual is tacking a black bed sheet over the south facing window in our bedroom in the middle of June. It's been overcast in the mornings for the past few weeks, and the earlier arrival of the sun had gone unnoticed. Until yesterday when I awoke to our bedroom bathed in sunlight. I thought it was 8 AM and that Mr Wrath and I had slept through our alarms. It was 4:30 AM.
Last night I stayed up too late. The very last yellow rays of the sun were still visible at quarter past 11. At 1 AM the street lights flickered on for a few brief hours, the solar lights in the neighbours' gardens stayed dim, unable to respond to the prolonged twilight. The horizon from the north-eastern point where the sun had set, to the north-western point where the sun would soon appear, were a beautiful electric blue. I felt like I had jet lag, my body clock out of synch with my time zone and my northern life.