Not really. I missed the solstice party in the frozen north, where every year they gather beneath icy stars and the pregnant moon to burn everything they could not compost. It has been too long since I was there with them, the white snow beneath, the black sky above and a golden fire reminding of spring returning.
This fire is from the summer past. With our new technologies we are no longer dependent on magic or storytellers to recreate seasons gone. It is easy now to evoke the lushness, buried in death and snow. Something lost with an accurate image gained.
A picture of my garden in the present tense shows little but white, with the tattered flags of a last column of leeks promising one last harvest. There is a half-row of carrots there too, to be dug during the January thaw. I am busy planning and plotting for next year, deciding on what seeds and tubers I will order to supplement those distributed by Community Gardens. Instead of the tattered present here's an image of the turgid past:
