"Spring is nature's way of saying, 'let's party!'" – Robin Williams

Date: May 1st, 2017

Occasion: May Day, International Worker's Day, Labor Day, Celtic Fire of Beltane, Bringing in the May, Fertility Festivals, Walpurgisnacht

Country: Worldwide

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XI | The Blossoms of Labor

Story #1

It takes him several lingering seconds before his vision slowly clears, psychedelic swirls of bright colour constantly creating optical illusions while merry laughter greets his ears. He observes, a hint of a smile lurking upon his lips, as families and friends alike raise their glasses to proclaim a toast, relishing in the length of twenty-four hours where they can explore the realm of freedom.

Not that it applies very much to him, of course. Labor Day is frequently spent with loved ones of many ages, ethnicities, varying degrees of love. Having that feeling be fully absent in his orphaned life had not so much bothered him, but allowed him to make peace with his own being, to enjoy the lasting moments of his own company. But as he watches parents chasing their children as they happily play tag, the feeling of self-love shifts into one that he is not familiar with.

There is not much he can do about it, he is aware, but suddenly he just wants a family. A shelter, shielding him from the torrents of rain that pour above his unprotected head during sleep. A hearty meal to devour, instead of scraps borderline three weeks old. Loving hugs and cheek kisses from a family he can call his own, sending him off to school. The more someone has, the less they appreciate it. Children, underestimating the power of education. How he yearned for the resources that could improve his intellectual personality.

Everyone hates sob stories, and he is no exception. A teenaged boy, without any parental guardians in his life. You would expect that money and food would be the more expansive issues, but the loneliness has finally started catching up with him in a seventeen year game of deadly tag. Selling misshapen bits and bobs had earned him a few acquaintances, but only in the realm of business. He had worked from dollar stores to Starbucks, hiding behind fake personas and "hi, I'm Jeff!" name tags, even though his real name was definitely not Jeff.

Reaching for the minuscule digital camera which is tucked in the pocket of his ratty old jeans, he presses the on button and holds it up. The screen frames a family of four, who are each engrossed with their own activities, but he can sense the bonds between them. His index finger lightly taps a button, capturing the mother mid-laugh, the father in the midst of excitedly telling a joke, while the two children shovel chocolate cake into their mouths in a fierce eating competition.

Nixing the self-pity that tries to swallow him whole, he sighs and puts the camera away. Looking at the picture is unbearable, but so is deleting the picture, as though wishing ill luck upon a family. He heaves a sigh, making his way back through the park as inconspicuously as possible. Although today is Labor Day, does not mean that he gets a break from constantly letting his fingers rub raw from practical work, nor keep an eye out for flashy trinkets one may have dropped.

Alas, that was the despair that greeted the doom of being homeless, he supposed. There was almost no such thing as a holiday, as he must make a living out of whatever time he has. Either that, or he curls into a ball and awaits Death to snatch him up in its eagle claws, but that means defeat. He does not like being defeated.

The children's joyful shouts of laughter from the playground was something he had previously ignored. That is, until one voice rings upwards from around his abdominal area. Distractedly, he glances down to nearly flinch at brown orbs of light, blinking up at him with the innocence of a teddy bear. The little girl tugs at his sleeve, which he does not resist. Not from actual affection, but more from the shock.

"I like your clothes!" she says cheerfully, looking admiringly at his rather unpolished and dirty outerwear. "I've never seen holes in jeans before! Mommy and daddy throw them away when holes are in them." Her forehead then creases into an adorable frown. "I like holes in clothes, though."

"Oh," he clears his throat awkwardly, unsure of what to do. When children see him, they usually run screaming in the opposite direction. "Um, thank you, I guess. I like your clothes too," he blurts out, as she proudly brushes down her floral dress and white sandals, hair flowing down her back in a waterfall of glossy strands.

Nervously, her parents approach out of the corner of my eye, shooting him looks that he is more than used to seeing. With his worn out jeans, peppered with rips and holes, equally ratty black leather jacket, and hair that looks as though it has never encountered a comb in its life, he is not exactly the poster boy for the Teenage Model of the Year, that's for sure.

"Alana, who is this... nice young man?" her mother almost has to choke the words out. The father glares as though wishing him an early death. Although eight years of being homeless had made these reactions routine, a flare of emotion eats up his heart. No human wants to be looked at as though they're the vermin of the human race.

"Look, I met a friend!" Alana squeals. The word friend rings in his ears, having been so constantly repeated in his mind that he realises that he has not spoken the word in years.

When her parents have looks as though she had met the Devil, he intervenes hastily. "I- I'm sorry," the duo's heads turn towards him. "But she just came up to me a few seconds ago. I should be getting back to work," he mumbles, twiddling my thumbs.

Omitting the irritated looks they had on their faces when he had initially spoken up, their expressions soften. There is nothing parents like more than nice young people who work, even if he does look the part of a drug dealer. "Work?" the father frowns. "Today is Labor Day, though."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he patiently replies and prays that he can get the message across to them without revealing his whole life story to Alana, who is gazing up at them in confusion. "There's no such thing as a holiday for me, I work for what I get."

Keeping his face as emotionless as possible, he observes as their eyes widen in recognition of his homelessness. He awaits them to hastily make an excuse or back away as quickly as possible, but they stay statues, unsure of how to react. Meanwhile, Alana tugs at their sleeves like she did with him.

"Er, what are you guys talking about?" she asks curiously. He and her parents exchange looks, unsure of how to answer her question. Kids find it hard to wrap their heads around concepts they did not grow up with.

Releasing her grip on her parents sleeves, she then turns to him. "Jeff, what are you talking about?"

'Jeff'? What is she talking about? Glancing down, he realises that the 'hi, I'm Jeff!' tag is still attached to his jacket. He fights the urge to burst into hysterical laughter at how ridiculous this whole situation is. "My name's not Jeff, it's-" he hesitates then, having not revealed his real name to anyone since eight years ago. "It's Austin."

Squealing for a reason he can't explain, Alana jumps up and down on the spot excitedly. "Ooh, do you know anyone named Ally?" she exclaims.

"Dear, maybe you should go and play with the other children," her mother says gently, Alana happily obliging and running off. Her parents then turn to him, the mother gently saying, "I'm sorry for your loss, Austin. We can't imagine how it feels to spend life without blood relatives."

A lump wells up in his throat as he shakes his head wordlessly, but before he can say anything, the father continues. "Have you considered living with an adopted family? We'd be happy to make have you." His eyes twinkle with mischief. "Plus, you don't have to work on Labor Day, though you do have to listen to my dad jokes!"

Years ago, he would have rejected them in a heartbeat. He would have worked his butt off, making a living out of what he could get. But the spirit of Labor Day is different. It celebrates taking a stand against working until they can't anymore. They are not machines, they are human beings. And they all deserve a break. So he lets a smile break out onto his face as he watches the same family he had taken a picture of, relishing in their day. He smiles as he turn to the parents, so kind as to take a person they barely know, in. "Yes, I'd love to live you with you."

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Story #2

Bellowing laughter echoes across the woods as young girls and boys her age charge into the woods, boys at the speed of a leopard and girls imitating graceful gazelles. She follows as an unenthusiastic pace, having gone through the same ordeal for years on end. The familiar scent of pine cones and fragrance of wild flowers wafts underneath her nose, the crunch of leaves underfoot snapping amid whoops and shouts of children.

Reaching out for the nearest flowering branch that dangles tantalisingly above her, hanging on by only a thread, she whispers an apology and pulls it off. The branch is small and weak, but it is, or was, still a living being. She still wonders why they send children out to collect branches for May Day. Is it because they are hoping for some to be snapped up in a jaw of the Big Bad Wolf, so they never return? Is it to make them do labor on Labor Day? Either way, she hates it.

In all the history books and schoolwork she had sifted through, almost all spoke of this as bringing May back into their homes at sunrise. For now comes the dapper rays of silvery dusk, refracting off various objects and hinting at the reveal of magical beings. Fairies, sprites. She had always felt that dusk was the prettiest time of day, and she would rather have spent it exploring the woods, not demolishing it.

"Nicole, what are you doing?" a voice shouts from beside her, causing her to almost leap out of her dark jeans and impossibly inky shirt with calligraphic writing printed on. Yep, she was really feeling the spring here. Her friend continues. "Join the group!"

"Go on without me," she replies, at which her friend shrugs and accelerates her speed to catch up with friends who are willing to socialise with her.

In somewhat of a daze, she wanders off to a more secluded part of the woods, where trees radiated vitality and unfamiliar flowers leap out at her with their cheeky colours. One would expect that she would be afraid by now but she is still somewhat familiar with her surroundings, having secretly explored this part of the woods without anyone's knowledge in her free time.

Nicole had never understood the point May Day, but everyone shut her protests down, proclaiming that the festivity was a time to celebrate the blooming of Spring, leaking into summer. The May Tree, in particular, is believed to have special powers and bring its blossom, though is considered unlucky at any other time of the year. That makes it sound all mystical, but here's a secret. It's not.

Grabbing a few branches there, picking a few sweet scented flowers there, she does not notice the boy watching her until he speaks up. "You know, you're kind of out in the middle of nowhere and that's pretty freaky."

In complete shock at the sudden company, she flinches violently. The basket flies from her hand as she watches in horror, before they land in the arms of the boy in question. His crystal grey eyes are widened in shock as Nicole clutched her chest, doubled over in heavy breaths before gasping, "God, don't do that, Peter!"

Neglecting the basket, which he gently set onto the ground before making his way over to her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to halt the convulsions. She usually didn't react to Peter, or anyone, like this, but this spot was her secret hideout. It was her space of sanctuary, where she could escape all the pressures of social interaction. Yet now, the boy who she secretly had had a crush on for years, was here in all his grey-eyed and black-haired glory, looking at her in a concerned manner. "You okay?"

There was no way she can answer that untruthfully. She finally gets a grip on herself, though she still feels warm waves of happiness flow through her at Peter's snug grip. "Yeah, I'm okay. How- how you find me? This place is out in the middle of nowhere, and there's no way that you could have stumbled-" I catch his mischievous smirk. "You followed me."

He doesn't deny her accusation. "You looked lost, and confused, and alone. What was I supposed to do? You could have wandered into a ditch, a swamp, be eaten by a wild animal! Don't take that the wrong way, I know you're taking that in the wrong way. Anyway, you looked troubled and I came to spontaneously swoop in like Prince Charming and save the day. So, what's sucky about your day?"

Even with his ridiculously dorky anecdote, I can't help but break out into a grin as I watch his frantic hand gestures explaining the words he does not say. He was fun, he was goofy, he was crazy, he was Peter. But although he had brightened up her day by five hundred percent, she does not think he can help her with this. "I don't know," she says with a sigh. "I don't care about May Day like you guys. Woo, Spring! Flowers! I can't bring myself to enjoy a celebration about my least favourite season."

Moments of silence greet her, and she wonders whether she said something wrong when Peter does not respond. Glancing up, she locks onto Peter's affectionate gaze as he points up, a single blossom from the Hawthorn May Tree floating down to rest near them. "Maybe May Trees will be our mistletoe," he says with a cheeky grin, bouncing his eyebrows.

"As long as you promise never to sneak up on me like that again, maybe it will be," she responds, before leaning in to peck his lips. He responds eagerly, as they kiss under the white blossoms of the May Tree.

You really begin appreciating the beauty of spring when you relish in the true essence of it. It isn't just about pretty flowers, or dancing in the woods. It goes deeper. May is about beginnings, carving paths, travelling down new roads, merging ends with beginnings. Nicole and Peter together is a refreshing start, and she hopes to experience more. Think of May as the month of fresh starts, and keep that in mind for the rest of your life.