The may blossom - i.e. hawthorn - is well and truly out in this part of the world. That's the meaning of the old rhyme - not that you have to wait till the end of May, to 'cast' your winter woollies, but that you have to wait till the may blossom blooms - except that, sadly, and although April was warm enough for us to cast any number of clouts, May itself is proving to be so chilly, here in the West of Scotland, that I'm sitting here wearing several layers, with a heater on, and looking out at my shivering plants. But all the same, the house martins are nesting and the may blossom is blooming, dazzling creamy white in all the hedgerows, and the scent of it, blown on the considerable breeze, is absolutely gorgeous, sweet and heady and powerful. I love this time of year and always want to drag my feet a bit, to slow time down!
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