Except of course we don't. There are no nuts in May, stupid.
There are knots of may:
|A knot is a flower cluster.|
May blossom has an ambiguous reputation - it was considered incredibly unlucky to bring it inside the house because "Hawthorn smells of death". It's quite true. Depending on the individual tree, and how old the flowers are, hawthorn can smell sweetly floral, or reek of carrion. It can also smell markedly sexual, which probably ties into its fertility/goddess/courtship connection.
By the end of May, even on a bad year, pretty much all the trees are in full leaf. The very last trees to put on their summer clothes are the oak and the ash. Supposedly this foretells the summer weather:
and cow parsley, which takes over every piece of unmowed verge in the country:
Cow parsley may be my favourite English plant of all. Its dusty smell is so quintessentially British, it takes me right back to childhood summers every time.
More decorative are bluebells:
|It's been a fantastic year for them, apparently|
and the big candles of horse chestnut:
Lots of white flowers, right?
|Here come the daisies|
Even the dandelions have turned to white fluff:
|"What time is it?"|
But they are swiftly replaced in the Yellow Meadow Flower Calendar by buttercups:
|"Do you like butter?"|