Hey Reader.

As the wheel of the year turns, we find ourselves once again at the midsummer solstice, or Alban Hefin as it is called in Welsh Druidry — the Light of the Shore. It is the longest day, a time when the sun seems to pause at its zenith, bathing the land in golden fire. Here in Germany, the woods are lush, the air is thick with blossoms, and the earth hums with the heartbeat of life.

For pagans and spiritual seekers, this is a powerful festival of fertility, union, and light — a sacred pause when the veil between worlds thins just enough to whisper forgotten truths to those who listen. We honour the Green Man, the Oak King, and the Sun God, even as we begin to feel the distant pull toward the darker half of the year.

Midsummer is a time for love, magic, and visioning, where the realm of the Fae grows closer. Fires are lit on hilltops, herbs are gathered at dawn, and dreams become portals. It is also a time to celebrate connection, whether with lovers, friends, or the land itself.

My story for the midsummer solstice is a tale drawn from the ancient lores of North Wales, where the midsummer moon lights the path between fate and freedom, longing and legacy.

May it inspire you to see the magic beneath your feet and the light within your soul.

Thank you, as ever, for walking this path with me. 💙

“The Light Between the Stones”

In the green heart of Eryri (Snowdonia) where mists cling like old secrets and the stones remember everything, there once lived a young woman named Elain, whose laughter was as wild as the streams and whose hair held the red-gold of dusk.

Elain was the granddaughter of a derwydd, a druid of the old ways, though few dared speak of such things openly. Her people feared the stone circles and the whispers in the hills. But Elain, like her grandmother, could hear the land breathe, and it often spoke to her of a name: Brân ap Llyr.

Brân, son of the sea god, was not born of this time. He was a myth carried on moonlight, a prince of the Fae long buried beneath the Cader Idris, where it is said dreams become prophecy. Yet every Midsummer, when the sun stood still and the night barely touched the sky, Elain would dream of him.

In her dreams, he stood at the stone circle of Bryn Cader Faner, clad in ancient armour of ivy and starlight, his eyes silver like still lakes. He would whisper to her, “The gate opens but once, Elain. Will you cross?”

And every time, she woke before she could answer.

But this solstice, something had changed. The village cows lowed restlessly. Birds circled in strange patterns. Her grandmother took her hand and pressed a key of rowan wood into it. “The door opens tonight,” she whispered. “Not all gates are meant to stay closed.”

Guided by instinct more than courage, Elain climbed under the full sun to Bryn Cader Faner. The air shimmered. The stones, like antlers of a giant stag, pulsed faintly. And there, as real as thunder, stood Brân.

He was more than beautiful, he was other. He smelled of sea salt and old forests. Around him, the grass bowed, and the birds stilled. “You came,” he said, his voice like waves on a distant shore.

“You’re real,” she breathed.

“For now,” he said. “Until the sun tilts again. This is the hour between, where fate and choice meet. Will you walk with me?”

She took his hand, and the world changed.

They danced through the dusk, handfasted by shadow and light. He led her through the realm of the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk, past rivers that flowed backwards, trees that sang, and skies lit by a second sun.

In those few hours of enchantment, they shared lifetimes, and a love so deep it echoed into the stones. But time, like tides, can’t be held back.

As dawn bled gold into the world, Brân’s eyes dimmed. “I am bound to the old laws,” he said. “Until the world remembers us. I must sleep again beneath Idris.”

Elain’s heart splintered. “Then let me come with you.”

He smiled sadly. “You are of this world. But love is stronger than even the veil.”

He kissed her brow and pressed a silver feather into her palm. “Keep this, and remember every midsummer, we will meet again. If not in flesh, then in a dream. And dreams are where all things begin.” He vanished with the last star.

Each year after, Elain returned to the stones. Sometimes she would see a shimmer. Sometimes she would dream. And always, she carried the feather.

And they say, even now, if you stand among the stones at solstice’s peak, and you believe enough in love, you might hear her laughter, and the sigh of a wave against an invisible shore.

In an area well known for megaliths and stone circles, Bryn Cader Faner stands out as an unusual and wonderful place to visit.

Situated in a remote high moorland looking up into Snowdonia, you will find the dramatic stone circle above Harlech with stones all sloping outwards like a crown of thorns.

Bryn Cader Faner translates as something like “the hill crowned with the throne of the flag,” which implies a place of great power and prestige.

I hope you enjoyed my short story. You'll also be able to find this on my website very soon.

May the Solstice bring you love that transcends time, courage to walk between worlds, and joy like wild laughter in the wind. 💙

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