Finally, the Solstice.

Solstice crept in this Saturday, pulling back a summer that has been sleepy and slow to reveal itself. But it is here now, finally and officially.  After a bitter winter with lots of snow and transitions, almost nothing feels as good as the sun, a few beers on a restaurant patio, watermelon on the porch and working with my feet in the kiddie pool.

Every year, I feel some pull to mark Solstice reverently. I've walked the labyrinth with other women at church. I've done my own quiet rituals burning sage and setting out stones with words I've written on them to set my intentions for the new season. I've been quiet and still and I've celebrated the evening rocking a sleeping baby in my arms on the porch while the sun sunk and the kids in the neighborhood shrieked and the downstairs neighbors grilled and clinked bottles of Zywiec.

This year, I meditated, flowed, posed and chanted Solstice in at a yoga workshop designed around the setting sun.

Like every yoga class I've ever been to, at the last minute I thought about not going. And like most times, I thought again and went anyway, winding my way to find the new studio where my former yoga teacher is now practicing, hurrying to find a semi-legal parking space and then wiggling my way into a space just big enough for me and my mat. After all that thinking and re-thinking, rushing and then stretching out in my little corner of the room, I breathed. Deeply. I was there and it was good for me to be there.

The sun streaked the room orange as we moved from pose to pose. I was hesitant to join in the chant thanking the sun god pulling us in, but the Sanskrit words were so lilty and the room echoed with our voices in this lovely tone.

As we neared the two-hour mark, I started feeling antsy. I had plans for dinner and I wanted enough time to put on lipstick and heels before I dashed out the door of the studio. And as I thought about skipping out early, my teacher started talking us through the last few minutes of our final relaxation. She said something about welcoming patience, about being gentle with ourselves and about renewing our investment in being whole and fulfilled women. She was talking to the class in her soft voice, but she was speaking right to me.

I breathed in and out again, deeply. I looked up at the small, round paper lanterns that dotted the dark room like stars or planets or little suns. I released and let the time and tasks and next thing go.

It's summer now, no time to rush or huddle or worry about falling behind. It's time to stretch out and feel the sun, to take better care and mark the season with both stillness and fire.

When it was over, I was off and into different clothes and to another place where I would sit outside and eat and drink beer until late. I was there then, and that was good for me too.

So the Solstice, once again, was marked for me. I feel ready and relaxed for all these months and all the little illuminations-- and if I can go with it, the sun god -- will bring.