Summer arrives with the passing solstice — when, according to the word’s original meaning, the “sun stands still.”

Not the case, of course, but merely an illusion based on the biased earthly perspective of those ancient observers. It is the earth that is constantly moving, turning, tilting, revolving — never “standing still.”

However, a few weeks from now, the effect of this passing solstice will indeed be noticeable in our daily lives.

Back in winter’s darkness, when another solstice transpired, daylight began increasing. Imperceptible at first — but steadily swelling, lengthening, intensifying as the weeks passed and the new year unspooled.

Then came the equinox, when night and day were equal in length. And daylight continued to expand — burgeoning light that increasingly pushed the night back into itself, reducing the darkness to a few meager hours between a lingering dusk and an early dawn.

Now summer’s solstice has arrived. Time appeared to stand still. Those of us with overactive imaginations might even have fancied we heard a clunk and whirr as cosmic gears were shifted, and the whole process got thrown into reverse.

From now on, we begin losing daylight — minute-by-minute, a tiny bit every passing day. Predictably, we’ll initially fail to notice this slow but steady change, though night will gradually begin to reclaim its vanquished territory.

But eventually, maybe a month from now, we will notice.

It’s a truism that the only constant in life is change. The year turns, season follows season, day becomes night and then transforms back into day again.

Wheels within wheels within wheels. The eternal cycle.

Personally, I’m glad to see summer’s official advent. I thought it was kinda spiteful the way spring decided to bid us adieu with a final dose of cold, cloudy, rainy days and nights in the low 50s. Not to mention tornados!

Being an incorrigible smallmouth fisherman, it seemed like this spring’s stream-angling opportunities were particularly limited. On a maddening number of days when I’d planned to go fishing, I subsequently found the water was too high, too cold, or too muddy — and often, all three.

Moreover, reducing my stream-fishing days thus limited many of my routine vernal observation opportunities.

When wading a bass stream, an angling naturalist can simultaneously track the seasonal progression while doing his best to temp a wily bronzeback from its murky lair.

Every spring I spend countless hours plying various waters — and I’m more or less continually checking out my surroundings.

But by missing my usual many days a ‘stream, I missed the opportunity to view familiar landscapes from this leisurely viewpoint.

Thus, the corollary to my fishing curtailment was a lost reference angle. I had to forfeit the year’s entire spring installment of reconnoitering along most of my beloved brooks and creeks and rivers. I missed seeing the bluebells in riotous bloom on a certain sycamore-clad island of the Stillwater.

I didn’t get my annual look at the trilliums up on Greenville Creek. Or make a wade past the eagle’s nest over on Twin. And I also wasn’t able to see that hillside on the old, abandoned farmland down in the southeastern hill-country — the one where all those old gnarly apple trees compete with the redbuds, serviceberry, dogwoods, and wild plum to take your breath away.

Nope, I didn’t get to visit a lot of my favorite adjacent-to-fishing haunts. Places I normally take for granted as an inviolable part of every spring. Hillsides, old fields, and deep woods, cliffy locations where I lay my spinning rod aside temporarily and gawk.

Still, summer is now here, and we shouldn’t hold it to blame for spring’s earlier contrariness.

There’s a cozy gentleness to summer’s mornings. Dawns arrive soft and fuzzy behind a veil of mist; dewy meadows sparkle as if strewn with a king’s ransom in diamonds.

I’ve already seen my first fireflies. Soon backyards and wild meadows will be twinkling like an upside-down sky with their myriad points of soft, warm, yellowish light.

There are blackberries ahead, too. Plus, thousand-and-more natural delights to see and smell, hear and taste during this brand new season.

Seasons are to be embraced, appreciated, savored. I truly believe life is best lived by remembering the past, considering the future, and taking full advantage of the here and now.

Spring may have pulled a fast one on me this time around — but I plan on embracing and enjoying every minute of summer I can manage.

Reach Jim McGuire at [email protected].