A May-less May Day

The flowers are not happy this May Day. The dandelions, joyous and exuberant in their yellowness only yesterday, have puckered up tight in the wake of this morning's rain and then snow. They have lined the sidewalks at the park where we walk, and have even sprouted up in the thick clumps of tall grassy wildness in the fields, but this evening they were gone. All that remains is their long thin necks, their nearly closed mouths and just the tips of soft yellow and white fuzzy tongues, giving this dreary May Day one big raspberry. The blossoms from the trees have fallen, browning and turning soggy in the damp grass and snow where they landed. The sidewalks are littered with them and I couldn't help but think how similar they look to leavings of the geese, which have departed completely. The tulips spent the day pouting, their backs turned to the world, their bulbs pulled up tight under the green shawl of their leaves. Walking through the park this afternoon I felt as Dorothy must have when she returned to Kansas, dull and dark after the Technicolor glory of Oz.

By the time we ventured out the snow had stopped and was all but gone except on the northward side of things, where small masses of it clung tightly together, not enough to play in, much to Duncan's displeasure, good, perhaps, for little more than gulping down or scattering away with a single swoop of his tail. But Duncan didn't mind the wet grass, greener than even yesterday, especially under the gray of the sky. There was very little noise, not even from the traffic, and the only real sound came from a far parking lot where two high schoolers tossed a baseball back and forth, the smack of the ball on their worn and faded leather mitts almost as wonderful as the crack of ball and bat. Perhaps I'm a latent fan of the sport, or, more likely, I simply love the many sounds of Spring.

It was a quiet walk and uneventful, and not the May Day I had hoped for. Because it was cold and silent, the park void of patrons, we ran into The Shepherds, who now make appearances only in the worst of weather when the dogs can run loose in a people-free park. We spotted them across the field and once they recognized us the dogs were leashed. They went their way and we went ours, but I found myself glancing over my shoulder several times to make sure they weren't near.

Because there were no flowers on our walk and because May Day is a celebration of flowers, I thought I'd share a few that Kevi sent me this morning. In lieu of a field of bright tulips and gladiolas, pansies and whatnots to run through, perhaps you can create your own. I know in my mind this* is where Duncan and I would love to be.

*Simply drag and click anywhere on the screen. Have fun.