The lingering dusks of May are a compensation for the heat which stuffs the house. Lawn sprinklers come on and cool the soft breeze, and the birds sing their evening songs before settling down to sleep. Venus appears dimly, then gathers cobalt robes and shines ever more brightly amid a gathering throng of lesser stars. A dog bark or two punctuates the rising chorus of crickets, ice tinkles in my glass, and the first scent of jasmine drifts by. I watch the vapor trail of a southbound airliner vanish as the sky turns fully dark and serenity envelops the woodlands. This is why I like May.