There are some subjects that I know will not be popular here on Steemit, but I have to write about them anyway. I think all writers have an urge to have their words read—that is half the purpose of writing. But there is the other half, which is just the call to write. So tonight, let’s write/read about the passage of time, again. It is a popular theme in my head lately, and I feel the call to write it.
Today is May Day, as we call it, or Beltane as some call it. I don’t get too immersed in religions, I think they all connect ultimately anyway. I do get immersed in nature, and in acknowledging the year as it passes. The turning of the wheel of the year seems to be a popular pagan term. I think it illustrates well how we circle back, over and over.
Last night, after deliberating with my closest friend, I announced to the kids we would be having a party today. First thing this morning my son had his cookbook out, examining what ought to be made. He was adamant about making mini pizzas with faces made out of toppings, and rice crispy “bears”. I spent the evening setting up our May Pole, made from a big oak branch brought down by a hurricane a few years ago. I screwed eyelets into it last year, and still have last year’s ribbon I scrounged up last minute. I did this while I circumventing the continual “when are we going to make the pizzas?” question.
Pole Inspection
Oddly, spring is a season that has never been that popular with me, but I like summer. I feel at home in summer. I daydream about those lingering summer evenings, which start around 5 o’clock. The sunlight just starts to cool then, with a hint of golden color. We frequently take walks then—slow, lazy walks. The heat still sticks to us, but not with that virulent intensity of midday. The cicadas play in a never ending orchestra, each new tree passed offering up a slightly changed rhythm. May Day is a bit like the beginning of summer to us, because where we live by the time the summer solstice arrives we are well into the heat. The summer solstice feels a bit like an afterthought.
Last year we brought the neighbors old cans filled with flowers and a handwritten label announcing the holiday, because otherwise it would be missed by the recipient. Nobody celebrates May Day anymore. We like the ‘nobody’ kind of holidays.
After the pole was up and I had shredded a plate full of cheese, the guests arrived. Finally, my son was able to make mini pizzas to his heart’s content. By then the house was hot and stagnant, and going out to our pole into the cool evening air was a refreshing relief. We made a half-hearted attempt at doing the correct dance around the pole to make for a pretty wrap job. The kids were placed at their designated ribbon and instructed which direction to move, but the toddler dropped her ribbon and made a run for it as soon as we began. The other kids started giggling and running willy-nilly. The pole had a good start, but then became of lovely mass of different colors and textures tangled together. We untangled, then just let them run. They got a couple more beautiful tangles in before the ribbons were dropped because dessert was remembered.
So I cheated, they aren't bears.
I chose to filter these pictures, because there is something about a bleached photo that looks like a memory to me. I think the kids will remember these celebrations as happy snapshots, the underlying message nestled in there, only to be grasped in adulthood. May Day is the mark between spring and summer. On the spring equinox we acknowledged the change outside but also the passage of a whole quarter year of time since the winter solstice. Now we acknowledge a mini chunk of time, and what has changed since spring. We need this pause to reflect on it. If we don’t reflect, one day we will realize years have slipped away, and won’t know what happened to them.
Blurry movements, blurry like the memory will be.