Summer Solstice

At the still point of the turning world.

—T. S. Eliot

1. Late Morning. Because of the heavy rains of the past winter and spring, and the unusually cool overcast conditions lasting throughout this spring, the Sacramento Valley on the first day of summer is verdant and flowering, giving little hint of the intense heat and parching drought that are imminent, the typically torrid weather that prevails from late June through September. Today, then, is but the first moment of summer—its arrival in the air, earth, and glimmering water all around us—announced, however quietly, by the solstice.

• Time: 11:15 a.m.

• Light: Sunny; cloudless sky

• Temperature: 80 degrees Fahrenheit

• Average high: 82 degrees Fahrenheit

• Breeze: 10–12 mph

• Rainfall, 24 hours: 0:00

• Reservoir level: Receding

• Pollen count: High

• Air-quality index: Moderate

• Fire hazard: Caution, code orange

• Sunset: 8:39 p.m.

• Moon phases: First quarter, June 22; Full moon, June 29

2. Into the Foothills. Roses, wild or cultivated, are beginning their second bloom. Many magnolias, looming broad and dark with their leathery green leaves, still hold on to their cream-white bowl-shaped flowers formed of scalloped petals. Oleander, which we commonly plant close together in this region and use as tall fences or windbreaks, are flowering now, their white or pink blossoms in bright contrast to the deep green of their foliage.

I bicycle four miles out of town to the east, then walk along a creek, approaching a canyon that narrows into the foothills of the Sierras. Though cultivated irises faded two months ago, the wild iris is now blooming in the open fields, where a single flower may present salmon-pink, brown, purple, and orange hues in its petals. Nearby, in a colorful patch above the creek, golden poppies and purple lupine sway among those wild grasses the sun has not yet burned to straw.

3. Slow Movement. It’s that time of year when the white fluff of the cottonwood trees is floating in the air, rising and dipping with the breeze, and drifting away.

In the nearest corner of a vast meadow—a swale of lengthening grass and wildflowers—eight horses graze. As they dip their heads the sun bathes their shoulders in a copper-colored light: the melting light of morning.

Like the sun the horses seem to stand stock-still while they feed here, but minute by minute they move across the shimmering field, nosing the grass as they go.

4. Movement and Rest. The creek, swollen by the winter rains and sustained by recent snowmelt in the mountains, is hurrying over its narrow rockbed, flashing light, so the sun appears to be traveling rapidly downstream. Overhead it seems motionless, but here on the rushing water it’s leaping and racing and plashing among the bordering trees. This paradox of motion and stillness is typical of the summer solstice—a time of vitality, as you know, but also of attentiveness.

I’m reminded that solstice means a stopping of the sun. We know, too, that on two days each year the sun is farthest from the equator, so in the northern hemisphere it appears highest in the sky during the first day of summer and lowest during the first day of winter. On this date, when the sun achieves its greatest height above the Earth, its movement seems slightest—even suggesting, at a glance, that it’s standing still. At this moment in the celestial year, we might experience, then, the deep unfathomable stillness that is the ground of our being.

At the same time, of course, the river of everyday life is carrying the cargo of all our actions and imaginings. Its current continues flowing through us and swirling around us, then drifting onward, bearing us to a destination beyond our sight or knowing.

A party of nine girls, perhaps eleven or twelve years old, in shorts and jeans and tanktops, is wearing conical hats. It’s probably a birthday party; their hats look goofy and cheerful. One girl has left the others, walking down to the water. They’re laughing as they spread blankets...