By Beth Schreibman Gehring

Long before calendars and clocks, before schedules and spreadsheets, there were the sun and the stars and those of us who watched them closely—gardeners, healers, farmers, mothers. The summer solstice, the longest day of the year, was a sacred moment. A time of warmth and waiting, of ripening berries and blooming roses, of hands deep in the soil and hearts lifted to the sun.

For me, this day has always held a special kind of magic.

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