May

 

May 2, 2022

Greetings from where we may,

Where I live it is sometimes hard to rely on the seasons to behave in a predictable fashion.  In the throes of spring’s promise, we are given snow and ice.  The flowers and buds, confident in their passion, perhaps encouraged by a mild March day, or the lyrical April showers, shudder in shock.

Perhaps it’s this way where you live, where you know better than to plan things outside because nature can be as petulant as a two year old.  There are a lot of ‘can’t’ conversations this time of year.

And then arrives my friend, the one who introduces me to ‘possible’.  I will admit I have to be reminded how much I value this friendship.  

There was a day, not long ago, that I ran in deep snow, shredded by winds so fierce I resigned myself to never describe them.  Even wearing all the gear I own, I arrived home after a dozen miles numb and discouraged.  Honestly, I can still feel that ache this morning.

In all of our days there will be something or other that will speak to our fears or our disillusionment or the frustrations.  They want to remind us of what we cannot, may not, will not do.  Some days it is a bitter winter wind, but it can be a harsh word, a war, a cost.  On those days it’s hard to remember the promise of May.

If you read the definition of the word ‘may’, which I predict none of you have, you will find the first use is: ‘Expressing possibility: ‘That may be true.’  And then: ‘Expressing permission.  Expressing a wish or hope.’

How could I have not known all this before now?  This little word, labeled an ‘auxiliary verb’, is barely worth a turn in Scrabble, and we use it in nearly every conversation.  May.

And now we are joined by May, the month of possible.  The gateway to June, where summer waits.  A time of blossoming, of purpose, and for us, a path to what we choose.  Permission.  It says, in its name, ‘You May…’  It allows you to act on your thoughts; Yes, you may run in shorts, go to the beach, graduate.  You may plant things without reservation.  You may hope.

We are affected by what nature offers.  I have learned, after too many years of not learning, that when I embrace that, make friends with what comes, the happier I will be.  Not every day in every season has an obvious gift, it is still our work to find what we are offered.

But in May, perhaps, we see the answer more easily, a reprieve from the effort required in more stark seasons.   It is the month poems are written, because it’s so possible, because we may.  Dew does not freeze or burn off, it is there in its fullness until the ladybug sips her fill.

I wish I could have a picnic, take a walk in the evening.  I want to sit in the sun in the yard and have coffee. I want to take my time in the woods. If only I could go for a long run in only my shorts and a smile.

May answers these thoughts.  You may.  May does not promise everything, it simply offers the possibilities, and it is up to us to go see what we can make of them.

Hope this finds you finding what you may,

David

Copyright © 2022  David Smith