The Wheel Of The Year

This is my favorite time of year, I admit it. If I were more spiritually-developed and possesed of a more mature soul, no doubt I'd see the beauty in every season equally and equally would I enjoy all of them. Reminds me of a Dorothy Parker poem:

If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again.
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much;
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.

I do not give a damn. I love this time of year. The days are long, long, long, long, longer. It's warm enough to eat breakfast and dinner (barefoot!) on my screen porch, looking out at woad blooming to beat the goddamn band, cardinals, robins, jack-in-the-pulpit, and dappled green everywhere. It's nice enough to drag my co-workers to Tabard Inn or Iron Gate Inn to eat lunch outside in the gardens. Did I mention that the days are longer?

Now, at this spot upon the wheel of the year, just between Beltane and the Summer Solstice, I'm happy. I feel secure. I don't worry that I'll have to get somewhere when it's icy and slippery or that I'll be housebound for days or that the depression that comes with the long darkness will jump up and bite me. Right now, everything's easy, anything that I want to accomplish seems within reach, there are fresh green dandelion leaves and parsley and mint and thyme and sage and sweet woodruff to consume, and I am happy.

May it be so for you.