May comes up out of the ground in every color. Grass greens, daffodil yellows, redbud reds, and dogwood whites. But for me, the soul of May is blue. Its crown is lilac and its socks are violet.

The lilac always steals the show in May, with its astonishing hue and perfume, but it is the lowly violets that always ground me in this heady month.

I was born in May. Kate was born in May. We were married in May. So, November notwithstanding, this is for us the month for thanksgiving. It is the month for mindfulness and noticing and accepting the gifts that spring lays at our feet. And throughout the lawn, along the shady edges of the yard, and on the forest floor, violets have been laid before us as if we were royalty. The value of the gift, however, is only paid in full if we bow down to this little flower and have a look and inhale. It is a delicate and temporal thing that blooms just for spring and is gone by summer.