On the eve of the summer solstice, I lit a fire with my family in a wood by a stream. The red oak flames in the stone circle leapt to the sky as the last rays of the sun flickered in the trees. Looking for kindling, I disturbed a lying deer.
At half past four in the morning I was up to greet the slow breaking of the dawn on the longest day. The ghostly white orb of the sun appeared through the mist and low cloud.
At midday, when the sun was its zenith at is most northerly point in the year, I was in the centre of the small stone circle at Merrivale on the western side of Dartmoor. At my feet tiny yellow star-shaped flowers glowed amongst the coarse, horse-cropped sedges and grass. Larksong filled the air. High above two buzzards circled the sun.
On the distant hills, I could see the rocky grey outcrops of tors, eroded by winter’s wind and rain. Shadows, formed by wayward clouds, swept across the rock-strewn landscape until the sun chased them all away.
The symbol in runes for fire is the same for the mind. Two such runes stand for the sun. Sun, fire and mind, all spreading light everlasting.