The seasons have traveled four times around the mayday tree since my first life ended.
That life, a good one.
Then, I kicked high and pitched my stones far enough to vanish from sight. I walked hand in hand with the most beautiful woman in the world. I embraced both day and night.
Today, my mayday tree will hold in full bloom against the sun for the fourth time since my first life ended. The sweet perfume of uncountable ivory flowers will entice bees from all the blue sky that surrounds.
I shall—as I do each spring—stand below the canopy of blossoms on my tree and listen to the humming of a thousand bees at once. I will gaze up into the dense clusters of flowers and allow the blurring frenzy of bees above me to wipe away all sorrows and all insecurities.
The mayday tree has come to bloom early. This, the promise of another good life.