Dear May 2026

Dear May,

Bluebonnets bloom beside blue poppies striving to open early. Berries form, only we must wait for August’s hands.

This is May 1st, Mayday, but I cannot bear to pick flowers and toss them on a porch for someone’s delight (or dismay).

Once, at eight, my friend and I carefully selected the best tulips from neighbor's yards, bright clusters in our arms.

Mother saw from the window, enormous bouquets walking down the street and looking closer, recognized the thieves.

Shocked, she explained the neighbor had prize tulips. She took my hand and led me to the gardener’s door. Frightened, I ran home to my swing, pumping higher, higher, trying to see her over the maple tree, wanting to know what would become of me. She did not punish me, only giving a gentle explanation and assurance he was not angry.

May is lilac time in Illinois.

In the wild lot we called The Woods, we gathered what we could reach, filling the house with fragrance. Lilacs do not last, but vivid memories do, their colors, sweet fragrances, and wishes for lying in a bed of their blossoms, and later creating sachets with scents finer than lavender.

May’s warmth, day by day, coaxes pink, yellow, white and garnet-red petals to trees - cherry, pear, dogwood, magnolia. Lawns turn pink as petals are blown by the wind.

I am grateful for you, May, for another spring petal panorama.

See you next year, God willing.

Copyright © 5/1/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin

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