Here we are at Midsummer. Not the Summer Solstice, that was a few days ago, and belongs to a different tradition. This is an older celebration, spoken of by William Shakespeare, and, more recently ( ! ), by Rudyard Kipling.
Best Beloved and I went out as dusk fell yesterday, and lit the Midsummer Eve Bonfire. We started off with some garden rubbish, to get a good hot fire going, then ceremoniously burnt some oak trees ( which had died from being in standing water too long, last winter. We did not chop them down needlessly), to show that the reign of the Oaken King is over for this year. The Holly King now takes over, until Yule. The fire burned high and hot, with the flames leaping and dancing, showing the sun how high and hot to be. In much the same way as Morris Dancers use white hankies, to show the clouds their job.