Summer Solstice Walk

Yesterday was one of the hottest days of the year. In the early evening I cycled to my bee hives to check ton my new swarm. They have been busy setting up their new nest and the hive was literally singing with their activity. The blazing sun has brought delight to the bees. Deep orange rays of light fell through the trees behind them as they continued to scoot in and out with their baskets full of yellow, white, orange and red pollen. After chatting to my friend who was checking on his plants (and the bees!) I pushed my bike towards the gate and saw the full moon rising high above the allotments.

My midsummer solstice walk was late. Very late. I admit it. I believe each earth festival is a time period to be celebrated rather than a single day which is good in this case as I pushed flexibility to its limit. However the raging sun that has appeared just recently has fully justified the wait as it has brought with it clear skies.  I celebrated the Summer Solstice eve and morning itself with a good friend of mine Katie in the Avebury landscape. A wonderful mix of old school festival gathering, the moon illuminating the surrounding land, fire dancing groups of friends within the stones, the police learning LED hula hooping and a beautiful sunrise beyond the hills. Most stayed up to see it. The police in fact lined up ready for photos with their Iphones, waiting for the spectacle of our golden star appearing once more on the horizon at solstice morn. It was fun and peaceful for us (except a hilarious twenty minutes where we stood watching revellers try and negotiate a set of steps cut into the hill with varying degrees of success). I love that word. Revellers.

And right after that I went to Glastonbury to gather there with friends old and new. However for the walk to honour the time I wanted to do a night coastal walk. The nights are warm now and the light of the moon at her fullest is a thing of great beauty in the summer. I waited for a free date which turned out to be in July and I headed for the coast. I dreamt of visiting Cornwall but needed to be nearer home. This made me really stop and appreciate the nearest bit of coastline I have which underpins my childhood; that of the Severn Estuary. At midnight yesterday I stepped out onto the beach at Uphill and slightly cautiously headed out into the night. A couple were chatting in a car and I heard voices in the dunes quietly talking. Recognising I was alone on a beach I wasn’t entirely familiar with I had to be a bit on it.  I could see pretty well in the moonlight but it was nearer habitation than some of my other walks and with the added excitement of sinking mud if I got too far out on the sands. A danger zone that must be respected. My sandals were quickly ditched and with a welcome breeze on my face I walked barefoot along the sand.

I had envisaged the moonlight reflecting off the sea, one of my favourite things to witness, but of course the sea was way, way out. To give it some more context when the sea is out here it really is miles out. It's barely visible…….However as I walked along the beach small pools of water reflected light back and salt and seaweed smells drifted faintly to my nose. I carried on walking and saw strange scattered posts sticking up In the dark on the horizon. One wooden craggy monolith may have been part of an old pier and it stood like a guardian of the beach, its narrow shadow stretching out across the sands. As I walked further the posts re-defined themselves into the masts of small boats. Aware of the infamous sinking mud on the estuary I walked a little higher up the beach towards the masts and the mass of sand rising ahead of me. To my right the land massed up out to sea. The peninsular provided a comforting bulk in the distance. I suddenly realized I was cresting a small rise leading into an adjoining estuary and I could see more boats resting gently upright on the banks. A small burble of water was flowing down the centre and out to the sea. I could hear the water running past and got my wish to see some moonlight reflected in it. The boats waited silently, patiently to be re-floated.

When I first walked out onto the sands I felt a bit silly, isolated and a little bit nervous. My outline stood out prominently in the dark as I crossed the sands and it was so very quiet. Yet as I walked further away from the road I started to hear water birds in the night, and later the river burbling, then a distant train passing and I watched street lights glowing in the distance. I felt the fringes of the nearest human habitation reach out to touch me. The silence that greeted me now had a shape. I could see the lights from the town of Weston down the coast and Wales across the Severn. I felt sad that the countries which touch our border to the north and to the west may wish to be free of us now, independent and making their own choices after our vote to leave the EU. Time will tell. But the sadness was there that the final choice could be separation and not interconnection.

I stood on the moonlit sand and offered my wishes and blessings for my next adventure which will fall over Lammas time. I gave thanks to the elements and for my life. Nature is ever present, a reassuring constant in the internal and external flux and change of things. Nature as a word doesn't really sum it up for me but I have never found the right word to describe the natural world. As surely that's the entire world?  Anyway as I paused I looked up and could identify a few bright stars forming constellations; the saucepan, the great bear, Casseopia. I used to know many more when I lived where the nights were quiet and the skies were much clearer. As I stood breathing in the soft night air a flutter of wings brushed my head; a bird? A bat? Some winged creature of the night making its way on its own adventures.

I kept high on the beach and walked back along the sands. The night wind was warm and I was in the place where I always feel best. I took some more deep breaths. This has been my shortest walking adventure by far. Yet the power and beauty of it are no less for being so. If William Blake felt that he could see the world in a grain of sand then I think I probably can too.