The Summer Solstice

The Summer Solstice

July 16, 2026

The Summer Solstice is upon us now, but not in the way we had hoped it might be. In New York City, young people sit naked in the public fountains; in Europe, old people divide bitterly as to whether air conditioning is a capitalist tool; in Chicago, perhaps two weekends ago, thirty eight people shot each other with guns they hadn’t even bothered to license. The experts say … these things just happen. And that, explains it.

But what if there is another explanation? The midsummer nights have always been a time for fairies and dancing spirits. What if this time, a different sort of spirit has returned, from the far side of the veil of recorded history? What if SHE has come again – the Solstice Sacrificial Goddess who ruled in the time before the time when the men took charge of Olympus? What if SHE has brought the heat with her, as painful punishment for four thousand years of ingratitude and disrespect?

We are not saying we believe in such things. No. But, it is wise to be careful. It is best not to speak her name, even if we might know it. Look what happened to Brenton in the BEAST story of the Bedtime Stories book, when he called for this Goddess; spoke her name; sat the ancient parchment pages of snake and toad. Things did not turn out so well for Brenton that midsummer night. She came. Tall and beautiful and horrible she came, with snakes for amulets, and the carrion crow of roadside meats upon her head. No. We shall not go down that pathway.

And yet, we must do something. The Solstice auguries are strong. Where we live on thissun baked mountain the rivers have run dry; the coyotes prowl and howl in the night; and in the valley below lies patient and foul the fetid yellow smoke of burning cactus. It is time for us to leave.

We shall go to the north. There, cool winds of recently departed glaciers await us. The solitude of our island in the lake is there, and the comforts of our writing lodge. There are a few manitou spirits in the forest shadows, yes, but there is a balance to these manitous, the good ones and the bad ones, in equal numbers. Some respect; some tobacco here and there; perhaps a white dog sacrifice at the Winter Solstice; these should be sufficient for the manitous. And best of all, swushiness plays poorly in the boreal forest … and ROSCOE plays … not at all.