On Summer, the Solstice, and the Sacred Light

Summer has always felt sacred to me.

Maybe it’s because I was born on the solstice—the longest day of the year, when the sun lingers just a little longer in the sky, as if blessing the earth with its full radiance. There’s something undeniably mystical about that kind of light. It stretches time, softens shadows, and invites us to be fully awake to the beauty of being alive.

Throughout history, the sun has been revered as a divine force. In ancient Egypt, it was Ra, the sun god, source of life and creation. The Celts celebrated the solstice with bonfires and rituals meant to honor the power of light and the cycles of the earth. Even in Christianity, the metaphor endures—the Son of God referred to as the light of the world, a divine radiance meant to guide, reveal, and transform.

To me, summer is more than just a season. It’s a reminder that light is sacred. That joy is spiritual. That beauty—when noticed, tended, and shared—has the power to heal. Whether it's golden hour light pouring across your dining table, or a moment of clarity during a morning walk, these are the everyday illuminations that invite us back to ourselves.

So this summer, I’m honoring the light. The literal sunlight, yes—but also the inner light. The glow that comes from meaningful conversations, long dinners, and creative expression. The Written Supper Society is one way we’re doing that. Gathering around stories. Curating beautiful moments. Illuminating what matters.

May this issue, and this season, remind you that the light lives in you too.

With warmth,
Val