At this season of the year, I think often of Thoreau living his solitary life in the hut by Walden Pond. I too, in spring, feel impatient with the busyness of life. Thoreau knew what he was about. "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."
Sometimes I think we rush so, we finish a schedule only to make a newer and busier one. We do not, ever, live deliberately and fully, for we haven't time. I know few people who go outdoors now and sit quietly for a couple of hours just looking at the miracle of spring. Sometimes as we drive along the country roads, I see occasional figures stretched out in lawn chairs. But they aren't observing May, they are reading the newspaper or a magazine. They are like the people I have seen on the great beach at Nauset on Cape Cod who never hear the music of the tide because they have portable radios playing hot music!
I hate to think what Thoreau would have said to that!
Perhaps the color of May is pink and violet. The apple blossom buds are pink, and some of our trees bear true pink bloom. The violets cover the ground and invade the lawn so that it is hard not to step on them.
Gladys Taber, Stillmeadow Sampler, 1959