Late to the solstice

I completely spaced on the solstice yesterday, though I had been looking forward to it. So, a day late, here’s my traditional solstice post. I think I’ll stick with the same two verses as last year.

First, from T. S. Eliot’s “Burnt Norton” (1935):

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.

And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.

And second, my traditional quote of my favorite lines from Susan Cooper’s poem “The Shortest Day,” which is seeming even more relevant than usual:

As promise wakens in the sleeping land:

They carol, feast, give thanks,

And dearly love their friends,

And hope for peace.

Looking forward to the return of the light.

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