May is Hat season. My Bama told me so.
Happy Birthday Bama, who would have been 115 this week. For you, I will dig up the old boater hats that still smell of school fairs and garden bubbles.
Or dust off my beret for teleporting back to the streets of Paris…
From you, I learned you don’t need a garden to have a garden party. You just need a hat.
You’re never too young for hat parties.
Even if they have to compete with spring tulips.
You’ll be with me when I’m next invited to wear a hat for a wedding. Then again, who needs permission?
I miss you every day but mostly in May.
