Holding the Light
Out near Allens Pond Wesport, Massachusetts
In less than a week now, we will arrive at the Summer Solstice.
Toward the end of May, while writing in my journal each morning, I remember thinking that we still had a while to go before daylight reached its fullest expression.
Currently, it is just after 4 a.m. and the sky is already quite bright when looking into the lower eastern horizon.
In a few days, the moment will arrive when daylight reaches its fullest expression before beginning a very slow return in the opposite direction. It’s the kind of change that is almost impossible to notice at first.
Mornings are still going to arrive very early. And the evenings will continue to stretch a long way into twilight. It’s a time of year when the difference between one day and the next is measured in seconds instead of hours.
And the shift?
It is going to happen anyway. I actually find a lot of comfort in that.
Nature is in no hurry to rush into another season. For me, it’s a pause that is worth noticing.
This photo was taken a little before 4:30 in the morning out by Allens Pond when I drove out to Westport Point just for this reason.
For a few brief moments, the light seemed perfectly content simply being there. Had I not planned for it, I could never have captured an early summer morning that looks like this.
There was no rushing forward.
No looking back.
Just holding long enough for the collaboration of the morning sky, the rise of the sun, and the start of a new day.
When you’re near the water, whether at dawn or dusk, and you can see the horizon backlit beneath a glowing sun, there is a kind of stillness that settles in. The kind that makes you wish all of life followed the same pattern.
We spend so much of our time moving toward something.
A project.
A journey.
A decision.
A time to grow.
Then suddenly one day we arrive. It’s not actually an ending. It’s a place where we can look around and appreciate where we are and how we got here.
They’re the kind of moments where deep breaths occur naturally. Or maybe they’re the kind of moments that take our breath away.
When you land there, you notice.
It’s the perfect time to gather what we’ve learned along the way.
For me, the Summer Solstice feels a little bit like the tide getting ready to turn.
You don’t just flip a switch and reverse course. It happens slowly, almost to the point of being still. For a few brief moments, it feels suspended, just there. Then, quietly and without any big announcement, it begins to move in a new direction.
I think life has a way of asking the same of us. There is time to move forward. Time to build. Time to move toward what is calling us.
And with all of that, there are times to stand still long enough to take in the view from where we have arrived. Not because our journey is over, but because the journey itself deserves some time to be acknowledged before what comes next.
Maybe this is the gift of the solstice. A slight reminder that even the tide pauses before it turns. Not forever. Just long enough to take a look around before continuing on.
“Live in each season as it passes.”
— Henry David Thoreau
Talk soon…
G