Yesterday was
Beltane, which is a pretty big holiday in my little world. In parts of the old world, there were only thought to be two real seasons: Winter and summer.
Beltane was a turning point (
Samhain being the other one). So, yesterday, it turned into
summer.
While doing my ritual to welcome summer and all things of the season, I had a rush of happiness that it was summer, then couldn't figure out why. Sure, it's supposed to be the beginning of when everything you've worked for starts blooming, but at that moment I was struck by how little summer actually means to me, except symbolically.
I mean, I live in Florida, where it is essentially summer most of the time. I grew up in North Carolina, where there were seasons. And I'm a college graduate, which means summer doesn't have any special significance as far as workload. Summer used to be such a huge deal; a resting point between markers in an academic career, and two and a half months of fun in the sun, sandals and sprinklers and day trips.
And now there's nothing special about it. Now the season has changed its name but not its clothes or mannerisms.