Summer in May where the delicate bells of the lily of the valley hide among their leaves from the spotlight sun like politicians from the microphone. Where the columbine rise tall blossoming profusely like lies in the House of Commons. Where the birds tweet at each other through the smoggy leafy canopy like Liberals and Conservatives insulting each other across Parliament's floor.
Summer in May begets Victoria Day or the May 2-4 weekend when gardeners in droves waddle to the garden centres like raccoons to the city's garbage bins. When office workers and CEOs and lawyers flee to the cottage or campgrounds or the beach like squirrels to their hidey holes. When new homeowners put up their feet and admire their purchase like coyotes eyeballing the barking white fluff at the ravine edge.
Summer in May when dandelions don't know whether to bloom or fluff like media deciding between the cottage or the season's first political BBQs. When grass struggles against vigorous weeds in the dawn and the heat and the sunset like women politicians anywhere. When leaves unfurl too early shocking the fauna like newly minted complex policies from the NDP.
Summer in May is meant to be in June.