The words Summer Solstice ring with magic, the magic of
the longest day of the year and the shortest night. Surely
it is a night filled with the dance of fairies and elves under
the velvety, summer diamond-studded sky.

As a teen and through my twenties and thirties I always
found the Summer Solstice to be the saddest day of the
year. I could actually smell the autumn of the year in its
approach. I looked down the hallway of months to come
straight into the face of deep, dark winter and somehow it
frightened me. I knew I was looking at a winter filled with
short days and dreary skies.

The crazily interesting jobs of wifing, (I was going to put
wifedom-but the cases didn't match) housekeeping,
and children-raising have reduced what once was a huge
mountain in my year to but a small bump in the gravel
road. Truly these busy, busy days are good ones; if only
I could save them to review later...oh, but I can. What a
blessing from God are the memories that are being
built up. I can take them out and dust them off when I
am 89 and sitting on my front porch rocking in my chair
and drinking lemonade.