photo by lenora via flickr |
She lived across the field, the field with the heifers and
the grass the came up to my shoulders. The same field where we hunted
leprechauns and dodged cow pies. Her farmhouse was white with red. Mine was cream
with green. In the wintertime, our windows had icicles on the inside and our
breath begged us to pretend we were smoking. In the summertime, we told secrets
in our tree fort and walked barefoot atop the fence line.
But on May Day, we all at once, came alive.
Annabelle lived on the corner in a house that wasn’t really
a farmhouse, even though a farmer lived in it. She made great cookies and knew
how to hug. Her voice was gentle and buoyant, and tumbled out like invisible
bubbles made to tickle your skin. She was spirited and happy and made me smile even
before she answered the door. Maybe that’s part of the reason why she was
always our first choice for sharing May Day baskets. That, and we knew she
loved flowers.
So we wove our baskets out of paper and went to hunt for the
prettiest. Sometimes we found them in my mama’s garden,
sometimes in Sandy’s mama’s, but no matter where, we always had a special eye
for the bluebells.
“Do you think Annabelle loves bluebells like we do?”
“Yep.”
“Me, too. ’Specially since her name sounds somthin' like
‘bluebell’.”
“Wow, ya. Well then, of course she’d love ‘em like we do.”
“Does that mean I gotta like ‘sin’ since it sounds somethin’
like ‘Brynne’?”
“No silly. Sinnin’ ain’t pretty. People just gotta like things
that sound like their name when they’re pretty. Like ‘grin’ for you and ‘dandy’
for me.”
“Phew. I was starting to worry.”
“Don’t worry. Just pick. The flowers need us as much as we
need them.”
“Ok. Happy May Day, Dandy-Sandy.”
“Happy May Day to you, too, Grin-Brynne.”
And we went back to pickin’. With fresh smiles.
* * *
It’s the first of May. May Day. The day of year, in my
world, where we share the gift of flowers. Not bought. But hand picked. Out of
garden. From a field. On the side of the road. Or near an empty lot. It’s a day
to see the beauty of a blossom and to share that joy with another. A day to
feel the promise of warmer, prettier tomorrows, and a day to share that promise
with someone else. It’s a day for you to pick some flowers and to share them,
from your heart, with love.
Maybe with your Annabelle. Maybe with your best friend. Or
maybe with a darkly dressed teen walking home from school, alone. Might you see
a beggar, sitting hungry, outside the store? Could it be he that needs the
beauty of a blossom the most? Has your neighbor forgotten the magic of Spring?
Has your co-worker forgotten the promise of hope? Have you? Remember then. For
them. For you. For all of us. Through the gift of a May Day flower.
photo by anne0 via flickr |
Happy May Day, dear friend of mine.
A blue bell for your desk,
a sparkle for your day.
4 comments:
It took awhile, but I found a blue bell, turns out they are all around the countryside here, but you have to open your eyes and look. A dandelion pointed me towards one. I have the dandelion in the same vase...
What a stupendous and beautiful way to start our May!!!!
Thanks.
I bet if you listen closely, you might hear the tinkling of the bells...and if you're lucky...which you are...mister dandelion might even sing along:)
You are so very kind...and I can feel your smiles from here! Yayy:)
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