In the Northern Hemisphere it's Midsummer's Day, longest of the year. Last night a local coven was celebrating in a nearby park. There were subtle signs of their activity along the path, such as the sacred bowl...
... and holy bucket (containing insect repellent, a must for those who choose to worship skyclad).
There were less subtle signs also.
I could hear the coven hooting like owls. Dunno why – I suppose they may not understand what I do in worship either. (For that matter, I'm not always sure why we do certain things, but that's another conversation.) Anyway, it was less bothersome than the high-low droning of the 17-year cicadas of a couple weeks ago. I didn't intrude on the ritual, but the vibe made it seem an auspicious time to redeem a Singleton Sock of Shame, so I pulled out my old Scar (ha!) and finally started working on its solemate.