May Day — Still They Bloom
May arrives not gently—
but with memory in its bones.
A celebration, yes,
but earned.
The apple orchard lifts its branches
like banners,
each blossom a declaration
against what tried to undo it.
Apple blooms—
thin as folded silk—
have known the sharp tongue of frost,
the kind that tries to say:
not this year.
And still—
they open.
Not in defiance
but in persistence,
May Day rings with laughter,
with ribbons and dancing,
with hands reaching toward warmth—
but here, in the orchard,
the celebration is rooted.
These blooms are not naïve.
They know what tries to end them.
They bloom anyway.
Because within each fragile cup
is a future forming—
seed becoming story,
blossom becoming fruit,
a promise that what survives
will nourish.
So we gather in their presence,
not just to celebrate spring,
but to honor endurance—
the kind that wears petals
and refuses to fall.
May Day—
not just the arrival of beauty,
but the proof of it.
Tranquil Resources 