I’ve never much bothered with the solstices. I may been around on those days, but I haven’t been up early enough or paid enough attention to see the sun rise or set or whatever it is the druids set great store by.
So I was as surprised as anyone when I agreed to climb out from under a warm duvet this morning to venture on a three mile hike to see what all the fuss was about.
We risked the black ice and skidpan conditions to join the annual walk from Park Bridge Heritage Centre to Hartshead Pike to see the sunrise this morning at a little under 1,ooo feet up. We had the added bonus of a lunar eclipse, although its main effect was to create an orange glow in the west as it reflected the sun’s light.
I only slipped once on the solid ice underfoot, but otherwise arrived at the summit unscathed where there were already people gathered. Some of them were hippie-looking, ready to greet Sol, even if the conditions were not quite what they had in mind in San Francisco in ’67.
There was a faint mixing of patchouli oil with the aroma of coffee, but no live animal sacrifices and little nudity to speak of.