As we've headed for the Summer Solstice in the Northern hemisphere this week, the hours of daylight never seem to come to an end. I've been going to bed in daylight and waking up at an unearthly hour as the sun streams through my bedroom window.
I'm not complaining because it won't be long until the long dark days are upon us once again. With, of course, the cold thrown in for good measure.
Here's a short poem I found in an old book my aunt left me several years ago. I'm not so sure the American author, George Birdseye had solely the summer solstice in mind when he wrote these words, as they suggest to me there was love in the air.
The longest day is in June, they say
The shortest in December
They did not come to me that way
The shortest I remember
You came a day with me to stay
And filled my heart with laughter
The longest day, you were away
The very next day after
George Birdseye circa 1840