May

May, there’s nothing quite like you. 

To put it simply, I adore May. I always have. I can’t get enough of it. And this year, I’ve decided to fully “sit” in May - to take in every morsel before it slips away into the decadently warm plans that summer brings along in its forever-in-style straw tote bag. 

May is the light and gorgeous dessert of spring. Delicious, fresh, what I’ve drooled over since the year began. The month I’m keenly aware, and rise from the long sleep of Colorado’s dragging winters. The time of quiet, subtle happenings that I recall more than in any other month - the distinct, intoxicating smell as I open the door just before sunrise, my neighbor’s irises beginning to bloom, strawberries so flavorful they almost taste like wine, the mild sunburn on my shoulders that turns to gold, the first long evening stroll that requires only the lightest of jackets. It’s also always a busy month for me, full of celebrations I wish would never end. The time for so many birthdays including my own, Mother’s Day, graduations, and all sorts of bittersweet endings and hopeful beginnings. 

To be frank, it’s the month I feel most like myself and, therefore the best about myself. It’s a deep, perhaps cosmic alignment. My eyes are a little greener, my walk a little lighter, and I can forgive myself for my negative accusations and self-doubt I tend to throw around like a rubber ball. I look in the mirror and see myself for exactly who I am, right now. And I love him. 

Sometimes, I wish it could be May forever. As I’ve gotten older, I hate the frigid cold and even the thought of leafless trees makes me want to cry. I love the life, the “I can do anything and everything is actually lovely” attitude it brings. Like a quick-witted confessional poem - it’s all there, then gone. But with age, I’ve learned that good things must come to an end… and the best things always come back around. Maybe, just maybe, I can embody my best parts of May for eleven months until it returns in gentle force.

So yes, I’ll sit here in May, enjoying the season’s last few warm coffees from my vintage Tiffany and revel in its silky, floral mornings. And if you’re free, please join me. The moka pot is full.

Jacob