Midnight Sun

My dog trots happily behind my boyfriend, occasionally looking back to make sure I haven’t been separated from the pack. Midnight is only minutes away, and as usual, we’re running late. For the first time in over fifty years, the entire town is gathering by the river to honor and celebrate the summer solstice. That may sound impressive, but the reality is that there are barely 2,000 residents in the small town of Girdwood, which makes for a close-knit (granted, sometimes too close) community. People are bound to gossip if we are late, but I don’t care. The sky is too beautiful. People wonder how Alaskans can tolerate such long, harsh winters— for them, not even a summer of endless daylight can justify nine months of darkness. But these people have never witnessed snow-capped mountains kissing white clouds in a cool blue sky in the middle of the night. I breathe in deeply. The air smells like the rainforest—crisp, green, and invigorating. And the sounds: river rushing, birds chirping, twigs snapping beneath my feet. Everything is alive. My dog stops in the middle of the path again, looking back impatiently. I catch up with her and my boyfriend, who is used to my trailing behind; understanding my need for walking in the woods to be a moving meditation.

I smile and kiss him gently, lips lingering in appreciation for his patience. We walk in silence for another ten minutes, our only conversation being the way we gently squeeze each others palms. We hear them first— sounds of music, laughter, and joy. As we finally emerge from the woods, it feels as if we have entered another world. Children chase each other in circles, crowns made of wildflowers flying off their foreheads. A group of musicians improvise together, eagerly welcoming a woman walking up with a banjo. Flasks of whiskey are passed around freely; wine is drank from the bottle. Everywhere you look there are people: offering platters of reindeer sausage, bundling up in colorful handmade blankets,and skipping rocks in the river. It’s an overwhelming scene, especially after a silent walk in the woods, but the energy is nothing but love. I hear a shriek and turn just in time to be nearly knocked over by my best friend.

“You made it! I thought you were going to miss it! Why are you guys so late?”

I blush and glance at my boyfriend, who is smiling broadly. We have our own tradition for the solstice. My friend looks from me to him, a look of understanding setting in as the lightbulb goes off.

“Say no more,” she grins. “I’m just happy you’re here. Happy Solstice!” A nearby group overhears, and echos her in a jubilant shout. There are more cheers, and people clink mugs full of local ale. My dog barks happily, and trots off to say hello to a six-week old husky. I close my eyes, still wrapped in the embrace of my closest friend, and welcome the familiar warmth of gratitude.

Happy Solstice.