May Day

Of course it’s not May Day at all: it’s just May Day bank holiday in the UK.

May Day itself should have been last week, but passed unnoticed and uncelebrated.

The hawthorn trees and bushes have been in flower for several weeks, so it’s tempting to think that “may is out” and that it’s time to don summer clothing. But given the almost icy temperatures we’ve had overnight again recently, I think we would be unwise to pack away our winter woollies quite yet.
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maybe; maybe not

No dabbling in the dew this morning – I’d have had to put my wellies on and am not sure how you tell dew that has risen from rain that has fallen.

No Morris dancers with their bells and wooden staves, and no dancing round the Maypole.

No Green Man and no May Queen.
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monday

Washing hanging on the line

Wind paunches the belly
of a wifebeater;
blue-black denims drip.
The kitchen drain belches suds
and she ponders ironing
white collars.

Here in the UK, it’s not just an ordinary washing-day Monday, it’s a bank holiday. I don’t know if I’m allowed to call it May Day, or whether I have to use the more diffident Early May bank holiday.
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