May is a chaotic time of year to say the least. As a university student, I’m swamped with deadlines for coursework and essays and research presentations. There are impending exams to attend to looming in the back of my mind. It’s rainier than I’d like for this time of year, but phrasing it like that almost makes it seem as though I have some luxury of dictating the whims of the North Atlantic weather cycles. Make no mistake, I have no control over the deadlines assigned or the number of grey days.
Then there’s the brighter side of things: sprawling elderflower patches growing and stretching in the green space across from the house. The prospect of walks in the peaks and afternoons by babbling brooks. A summer of travel and excavations and reading books until their spines ache and groan.
Part of the stress that’s washed over me is the unavoidable fact that I am nearly finished with my penultimate year at university. Friends from home have already graduated and moved on to their next ventures. This summer will be one of decisions and preparations.
It’s a funny thing trying to solve problems as they come along and anticipate the ones just out of view and yet still not wanting to admit that they’re even there at all. As much as I know I’ll run over the worst case scenarios in my head, I’m simultaneously attempting to cultivate new memories of my lovely Sheffield and the English countryside. It’s not letting them interfere with each other that I’m struggling with at the moment.
In the next week or so I’ll have two little poems published in a local zine called Blood Jet Press. I thought I’d share one here too as I’m trying to focus on the bright patches. I’ll put up one in the next day or two after the next issue of the publication is available. I’ve linked their website below if you’re curious.