Summer Solstice just five days away, and some of us are a long way from prepared. Something about this year is running late. The greens of grass and trees are at the end of May, and Raspberry are ripening at least ten days late, but I am not convinced by such signatures of time. I have to think there is some other cause, something deep and stirring.
And I guess this sort of paranoid delusion of a great out there watching in
judgment is actually the source of Calendars. Great stones erected have a
permanence and solidity, a constancy, an immoveable and comforting
bureaucracy. The week with it's seven days. And the year, round and neatly
tied by leap day.