Kage Baker always celebrated this evening.

Lammas Eve at night – July 31st, which this is – is the historical birthday of Juliette Capulet. Her nurse fondly remembers it in the beginning of the play. It was also the birthday of Katherine Baker, and Kage never let the anniversary pass without a toast to Mamma.

It’s a harvest festival in its older, more religious, less classical incarnation: Lammas is (probably) one of those words blurred from the long centuries of familiar use: Loaf Mas, the celebration of the ripe grain, of bread and beer and having enough seed laid by for another year. Occurring as it does in weather still pretty warm even in England, it’s also a grand time to light bonfires.

Heck, any celebration is good for bonfires. But Kage liked this one especially, because it was a nice time to sit up in the back yard and watch the flames dance. We’d watch for falling stars and mysterious air craft, and listen to the waves and flames both breathing on the night air.

For reasons as mysterious as ever, I’ve spent the day mostly asleep – them old narcolepsies creeping up on me again. Who knows why? But I hope to stay up a little while tonight and watch some Olympic events. All those young athletes, racing the sun and winning; forcing time itself to stand still for a while and let them be immortal.

Now, that’s seed for the future.