Sunset adoration from Liber Resh at the bus stop, facing west, as discreetly as anyone can make the sign in public. A small girl in a dinosaur raincoat watched closely, then copied it exactly. Her mother and I exchanged a nod of mutual professionalism.
Four adorations of the sun a day: dawn, noon, sunset, midnight. Dawn and midnight are easy, I'm home. Noon is the problem. I work in an open-plan office. My solution for two years has been the fire stairs between floors 6 and 7. Face south, make the sign, say the words under my breath, note it in the diary at lunch. Last Tuesday a colleague came down mid-adoration and I froze with my arms at an odd angle. She said 'stretching? Same, my back is wrecked' and kept walking. People imagine ceremonial magic as robes and incense. Most days it's a stairwell, a quiet voice, and the small stubbornness of showing up when the sun reaches the top of the sky.