A Midsummer Night's Note.

Today was as good a Midsummer’s Day as anyone could have dreamed of or prayed for, especially late in the day when I went for an uncharacteristic evening walk. There was a purpose behind it: I wanted to take an apple and a carrot to a dear little white pony who lives in a very small paddock at the far end of Mill Lane. It’s nearly a week since I last took her such a treat and I thought it was about time I did.

I’d almost forgotten what a delight it is to walk along an English country lane on a warm, sunny, still evening in June. I’m sure it’s true that country lanes all over Europe are just as delightful in such circumstances, and yet I have heard even foreigners express the view that there is something uniquely rich, peaceful and serene about the lanes and landscapes of middle England. I remembered while I was walking that the Battle of Britain began in June 1940, and it seemed almost painfully poignant that such a cacophony of noise, pain, fear and death should have been played out daily above the stage of rural England in this most life-affirming of months.

None of that this evening, though. The hedgerows are looking a little ragged now as the different species of shrub grow at different rates, but their most notable feature is the colour contained within them – the creamy elder blossom, the pinks of dog rose and honeysuckle, the purple of wild sweet peas, the sharp white umbrellas topping the hogweed plants contrasting with the little blue periwinkles beneath their canopies. And the brambles have started to bloom in profusion now, carrying the promise of countless sweet and succulent blackberries in August.

And so tonight I lit my customary Midsummer fire, partly in honour of the goddess Aine’s feast day (must be my Irish heritage), partly to wish the other-worldly denizens of our earthly realm a good celebration, and partly to thank the sun for being there and to request an unwavering return. Fanciful I may be, but it’s better than what the human race usually serves up. And if Titania should grace me with her presence, I hope the meeting will not go ill.

(And even if I don’t encounter the redoubtable T, at least I had the pleasure of being smiled and waved at by the Lady B’s dear mama. I swear she looks younger every time I see her, and the garden around her cottage is as delightful as ever.)