One time when I lived in the world of NotBoone, a friend told me how much she loved May. I seem to recall we were riding a train somewhere, passing fields of brightly colored flowers. And I remember feeling surprised that I didn’t have any such associations with the month of May.
This year, I’m remembering why. May in my neck of the mountains tends to mock us with the hope of spring. Sure, there are occasional good moments. The sky turns this crazy dark blue, and the air is crisp and fresh. The trees show off new leaves. Some of the azaleas and rhododendron decide to bloom.
Then comes the rain. The wind. It’s too cold to go out without a jacket, but embarrassing if you give in and put on a hat or scarf. I definitely regret leaving the house without pulling on long socks. My mind tells me it’s warmer than it was all winter. But that was winter. This is May. Come on.
Still, the rain can’t last forever (knock on wood). And here I am, creeping back onto my blog. Ready to write again, I guess. Even if it is just about the weather.
reader. writer. 