Voice of British Muslim Women

Saira Bhatti, Slough

I cannot remember the last summer solstice I consciously noticed.  

That feels strange to admit. I can vividly remember standing outside last year with countless others, eyes fixed on the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis as it danced across British skies.[1] People stayed up late, cameras ready. Yet, on June 21^st, the day of the summer solstice, when the Earth reaches the point in its orbit that gives much of the Northern Hemisphere its longest stretch of daylight, most of us simply get on with our day. [2] 

Perhaps familiarity is the greatest enemy of wonder.  

As children, we noticed these wonders instinctively. Summer evenings seemed endless. We used to squeeze every last minute out of the daylight, reluctant to go inside while the sky was still glowing in shades of gold and pink. The world felt bigger then, more alive somehow.  

The strange thing is that nothing has really changed. The sunsets have not become less beautiful. The seasons still arrive with remarkable precision. The longest day has not become less extraordinary. Yet, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, many of us seem to lose our instinct to marvel.  

There is a curious tendency within human nature to reserve our sense of awe for the extraordinary whilst overlooking the miracles that occur daily with perfect consistency. If the sun failed to rise tomorrow morning, it would dominate every headline on Earth. Scientists would scramble for explanations, and entire nations would rightfully panic. Yet, because it rises every day without fail, we rarely consider it worthy of attention.  

Perhaps this is why the Holy Qur’an repeatedly directs our attention to things we encounter so often that we almost stop seeing them. Allah states in Chapter 3, verse 191:  

“In the creation of the heavens and the earth and in the alternation of the night and the day there are indeed Signs for men of understanding.” [3] 

The verse is striking for many reasons, but one I often ponder over is that it does not say these are signs only for scientists, philosophers or even people with exceptional intelligence. They are simply for people who understand. The summer solstice shines upon the believer and the atheist alike.  

What if understanding begins not by discovering new signs, but by recognising the ones we have grown accustomed to? The summer solstice offers an opportunity to do precisely that.  

Then there is another irony. Many of us only know the summer solstice has arrived because we have read about it online. A headline reminds us. A social media reel passes across our screen. Previous generations needed no such reminder; they lived close enough to creation to notice… 

Today, we possess more information about the natural world than any generation before us, yet we often experience less intimacy with it. Without looking towards the skies, we know the exact time of sunset. Without looking out of the window, we know the weather forecast for the entire week!  

I find this strangely melancholic because in many ways, we have outsourced wonder and intrigue. 

His Holiness, Mirza Tahir Ahmad (may Allah have mercy on him) often emphasised that scientific discovery should not distance us from God but draw us closer to Him. The more we uncover about the precision of the universe, the more reasons we have to stand in awe of its Creator. Yet knowledge alone does not guarantee wonder. We can know more about the heavens than any generation before us and still forget to look up. [4] 

And there is something beautifully paradoxical about the summer solstice itself. We often think of it as a triumph of light – the longest day, the peak of summer. Yet it is simultaneously a turning point. From this moment onwards, however gradually, the days begin to shorten again.   

Nature reminds us of a truth often forgotten, that permanence belongs to nothing in this world, but to the One Who Created it. Seasons change, youth slips quietly from our grasp, and even the longest day eventually gives way to longer nights. The Holy Qur’an draws our attention to this fleeting nature of worldly life in Chapter 29, verse 65, stating:  

“And this life of the world is nothing but a pastime and a sport, and the Home of the Hereafter – that indeed is Life, if they but knew!” [5] 

One thing I have always loved about the Holy Qur’an is that the Arabic word ‘ayah’ translates to both ‘verse’ and ‘sign’. [6] The same word that describes the verses of revelation also describes the signs woven throughout creation. Perhaps that is because both are meant to be read. The Qur’an is a book of signs, and so too is the world around us. 

It was only after reading this piece back that I realised how often I had used the word ‘yet’. Perhaps that is fitting. The summer solstice is itself a ‘yet’ – a sign that is seen by everyone yet recognised by so few.