Love List: May

hills & hedgerows | maternal love | the light within

My friend told me the way to the secret daisy field: up the hill, along the lane, behind the gatehouse. One Thursday, after supper we went to look for it — the washing-up left on the side, the kids still in their school uniforms — everything abandoned for a moment, in hope of a little adventure.

Each year, in the countryside where I live, the secret fields of summer appear — sometimes daisies, sometimes poppies. They are rarely in the same place twice and so flower field locations are passed on like whispers: ‘along the road that leads out of the village, if you stop in the second lay-by and follow the footpath, you’ll find it.’

This year, May heat has stolen the springtime and once distinct floral seasons (cow parsley and wild garlic in May, elderflower and daisies in June) are tangled and condensed. The fields have bloomed earlier than ever — there are poppies on the banks now and the daisies are back. Passing them in the car, I feel an ache in my chest — my children are older and, in a scramble of sports, exams, school trips and routines, we may not find time to make our way to the secret field.

Back then, long, light evenings — sweet-scented and slow — were a chance to set aside routines and head out the door on a whim in search of swathes of flowers. On the day we first found the daisies — behind the gatehouse as promised — there was no one beneath the sky but us. We walked along the footpath that borders the field, watching bees buzz around the flowers. Golden light glowed through pale petals, long grass swished, laughter echoed, and above the hill the skylarks sang.

Those daisy days are jewels: memories I hold tight to as weeks fly, seasons turn strangely, and — all too soon — petals drop and flowers disappear. But perhaps my children will remember: moments fluttering at the edges of their consciousness in years to come —the sparkle of spontaneity, and after dinner daisies.

Here’s what I’ve been reading and loving this month: