Midsummer Night

Six firemen, two fat, four tall, in heavy red uniforms with neon yellow markings, helmets in hands, started the fire. We all smelled it at once, cutting through the negative ion rich sea breeze. Hundreds of us waiting with unlit torches that looked like gray styrofoam swords. The dress code was festive-casual and the mood elated. The rest of the country was under a terrible heat spell and we lucky ones here on the island enjoyed perfect conditions including a blue sky at this late hour. The longest day of the year coming to an end, the shortest night beginning. Downhill from here if you want to look at it that way. A turning point, a marker of time, of supposed seasons pre global warming. Ancient rituals played out slightly differently all over Northern and Eastern Europe. Here, we walk along the southern tip of the island mostly single file, water on the right, sand and dunes on the left.  All ages and kinds of able-bodied folks turned up: the truly locals, the semi-locals (same village every year), the day trippers from all over the island (being assured two late busses out of here). Around the sandy tip, waiting for us, a large bonfire where we tossed our torches which felt oddly cleansing. Also waiting: grilled sausages, drinks, and lounge music. People seated in the sand, or standing in groups glasses in hand.

Community. Ritual. We need more of this.

And I? I spent a good chunk of that already short night watching the second German soccer World Cup game, muttering out loud, even clapping once. What the heck? Am I becoming more German with old age? God help me.

Passing the torch to summer

The start on the West side of the island tip

Looking back. Note the sun has not yet set. We had to consider the tide.

On the other side of the tip. Lighthouse and harbor waiting. Just another 20 minutes to the bonfire