picture courtesy of Spencer Greet
I am going to tell you a tale. A fable, of sorts.
The story is true, but the names have been changed because it's fun to make up fake names for people and have them guess who you are talking about.
Once a year, when the sun is at its zenith, a group of people gather on a Pennsylvania hillside to acknowledge and give fealty to Sol, the sustainer of life on this planet.
There is much ancient ritual associated with this act of homage. Sacred beverages are concocted and consumed. A man in ceremonial robes with scepter held high emerges. Rites are observed. A bonfire is lit with the remains of the sacrificial tree of winter, and spontaneous drumming and dancing in the manner of the ancestors takes place around the bonfire.
The symbol of the Sol-stice, wrought by Hephaestus, he who tinkers with metal, is hung upon the wall. Uncle Luau, the patron of the ceremony, is set ablaze (in a manner of speaking), and his visage is mocked by the facially talented Physiognomon, avatar of mimicry.
And a large vulcanized temple rises on the hillside.
The large vulcanized temple, called a moonbounce to honor the nocturnal companion to the diurnal deity, is a simulacrum of the experience of walking on Luna, the "cold-hearted orb that rules the night" as told by the poets of yore. By so doing, the darkness is conquered and tamed.
The temple is used only by the younger members of the tribe of Sol-worshippers, who re-enact courtship rituals common to the young and buff and nubile, and thereby affirm that life is worth living, at least until your knees give out. Mature members of the tribe may not enter the moonbounce, lest the ceremonies of the exuberant and supple be tainted by the participation of the tentative and creaky, and the vibe ruined.
The youths caper and cavort, and, flinging themselves upon one another, lift their voices in shrieks of delight, except when mischeivous Puck deflates the temple, or Hespera flings water upon them to remind them that youth and time is fleeting, and then there are shrieks of dismay.
At length the young people emerge, because Sol has fled the vicinity, and their elders have declared the ceremonies of the young to be excessive and too lengthy; and the couples who have found each other and have sworn fealty for at least the rest of the evening must be separated, and the temple of the moon is deflated for another year.
And Cupid and Psyche, and Edward and Bella, and Tristan and Iseult and Nick and Nora and Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice must resort to the primitive communication that is available to them and text each other until dawn.
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