Their institutions changed.
Their borders changed.
Their explanations changed.
The sun did not.
Neither did the human impulse to mark the moment together.
I continued down the path with smoke in my clothes and the smell of the fire still clinging to my hands.
Behind me, the hill grew smaller.
But the night no longer felt distant or ancient.
It felt immediate.
The next Summer Solstice would come whether anyone remembered the old stories or not.
The longest day would arrive.
The light would linger.
Somewhere, someone would look up and notice.
And perhaps, on a hill high enough to be seen from another hill, a fire would begin again.
