Bemoaning a Mean May.

A good May makes a difference to a year. It sets up the summer and makes it a season to call a season. May is the month of bounty in the garden, the fields, the hedgerows and the woods. Such bounty is nature’s chorus of bold and optimistic youth. It should be stroked by warm and friendly breezes, not assaulted by an icy blast of equinoctial dimension.

For such was the wind haunting the Shire this evening: Icy. And earlier we had frequent squally showers of hail and sleet. I’m sure when Tennyson wrote the line Blow trumpet. The world is white with May, he didn’t have the frozen forms of precipitation in mind.