Three years ago today, I did my first ever solstice camp under the stars. We pitched our tents in a little deserted glade after staggering halfway down an almost inaccessible cliff face. Sitting around the camp-fire, the home-made blackberry whisky added to the relaxed ambiance as we drummed and strummed accompanied by the ethereal dreamtime drone of the didge. The sun got lower in the sky and the fire poi started twirling in the growing darkness, mesmerisingly free from human intervention.
Eventually sleep caught up with most of us and we woke to the fire-smiths packing up their tents – the only ones to have lasted the night with wakefulness. Suddenly from behind a long hedge there appeared some new visitors. A galloping herd of cows stopped short, looking affronted to see their prime pasture stolen by a small tent village. We reluctantly decided that we really ought to rejoin the rest of humanity but it had been an unforgettable celebration of the longest day.
Helen Jane Merritt Musings from a Random Mind 