02/05/2025
It all begins in that peculiar little moment
when winter hasnât gone and spring hasnât quite arrived.
It was the very first of MayâMay the First, May-Day Proper,
and The Glen was still rubbing its eyes.
The frost was drowsy on the ground,
the Sun was sulking behind the hill,
and the cows were chewing cud like they might wake up
or they might just go back to bed.
Mouse, who is terribly small and terribly wise,
woke up early that day (as she always does on Important Occasions),
and tied on her shawl, and packed her satchel,
and gathered all the things one must gather
when standing between two seasons and two worlds.
She had her primroses for the threshold,
her rowan cross (keirn, if you please, and split by pawânot knife),
a wisp of mugwort in her coat, and
a crock of water for the fairiesâwho are always thirsty on May-Eve.
Now you may think The Glen simply wakes itself,
but no, no, noâthat will never do.
You see, the Sun will not rise until every creature has said,
in their very best voice, âGood morning, Sun.â
Thatâs the agreement.
It was signed in claw and wing and root and hoof long ago,
before even Mouse was bornâand that is saying something.
So Mouse marched to the foot of the Grand Old Oak,
where she always begins her work of Waking the Day.
But this year, someone else was already there.
She stood upon a twisted root, her chin lifted high,
wearing a dress made of silk and sighs
and stitched with stubbornness.
She was Blossom.
The First Blossom.
The Very First.
Her petals trembled, not from fear (though the wind was biting),
but because she had bloomed before the world was warm.
âExcuse me,â said Mouse, peering up,
âAre you sure youâre ready?â
Blossom gave a twirl, just to show off her skirt.
âDarling,â she said, âI am never readyâbut I am blooming.â
And then she added, as if Mouse ought to have known:
âNew beginnings are always a bit shaky.â
Well, thatâs the truth, Best Beloved.
You know it, and I know it, and so did Mouse.
âQuite right,â Mouse said, and laid her primroses down.
The Breeze came tumbling in just then,
a little late, a little loud, smelling of whin smoke and chimney tops.
She whirled through the branches and said,
âI wouldâve waited till the frost went off the grass,
but then, Iâve never had much fashion sense.â
Blossom sniffed, as blossoms do.
âStyle is never convenient,â she said.
âAnd besides, the Sun wonât come until heâs called.â
Which was true.
So Mouse clambered atop a mossy stone,
and called in her clearest voice:
âGood morning, Sun!â
Rabbit echoed her.
So did Hedgehog and Cat and even the snoring badger (though it came out âGâmmrng.â)
âGOOD MORNING, DARLING!â sang Blossom, who was not at all shy.
And thenâonly thenâthe Sun yawned and rose up over the hill,
all golden and grand and a bit dramatic,
pouring his light down like honey on toast.
âAh,â he said, spotting Blossom.
âYou again. Youâre early every year.â
And Blossom curtsied, her petals glowing.
âSomeone has to go first.â
And that, O Best Beloved, is how it all began.
Thatâs how May came, and summer began its creeping in,
and how the fairies stayed away (thanks to the rowan crosses and the good crock of water),
and how every year, at the start of May,
a single brave blossom steps forward before the world feels ready.
Because beginnings are like that.
They tremble a little.
They shiver on the breeze.
But they reach for the light anyway.
And so should we.
And Best Beloved, on this soft and trembling morning, as the first light brushes the tops of the hills and the petals of spring begin to fall like quiet wishes, I send you a blessing from The Glen:
May you feel the courage of the Blossom who bloomed before the world was ready.
May you trust the light, even when it hides behind hills.
And may every shaky beginning gently carry you toward something beautiful.
Today, I want to say a heartfelt thank you to Denise Bisaillon, whose words about brave blossoms blooming in the cold stirred this morningâs story to life.
And to you, dear Readerâthank you for your overwhelming, wonderful, soul-lifting support as you wait patiently for your copy of Tales of The Glen to arrive. The delays have been longer than Iâd hoped, and this beginning has been a little shaky on my side. But your warmth, your kindness, and your belief have lit the path forward.
Every message, every smile, every bit of understanding has meant more than I can say.
From my heart to yoursâ
Happy May Day.
May you always bloom in your own time.
With love,
Victoria Beata
and all the creatures of The Glen
đž If this story of Blossom and the trembling beauty of May stirred something in you, youâre already part of our growing Glen.
đ§ You can listen to more tales like this on YouTubeâwoven for days when courage feels quiet, mornings that come slowly, and hearts that need a soft place to rest.
đ Or visit my shop at www.victoriabeata.shop where illustrated books, cards, and prints awaitâeach one carrying the light and wonder of The Glen into your own season of beginnings.
âš However you choose to read, listen, or shareâthank you, Best Beloved, for walking with us, blooming with us, and believing in the magic of a shaky but beautiful start.
