Season of the May- Part 1

Everything is beyond lush now. Bugs are plentiful. Days are eternal.

And there is no time at all.

We are on a constant roll of the next thing and the next

and at the same time
seeing each new flower and hearing every birdsong.

A moon-cycle of days the Maypole stood

and today we took it down.

The eggshell still underneath in the hole

now re-covered with the rocks that held the base

so firm and solid and vertical.

It often seems free-fall, but I think that is an illusion, like clouds in the distance.

It is about letting go with intent.

It is directional.

Do the trees wonder at their leaves?