As the recessional played, and Reverend Jeff opened the church doors before shaking hands with his parishioners, he was surprised to discover he wasn’t the first one there. 

“Mornin’ Rev!”

“Uh, good morning … Alphonse.”

Yes, it was Alphonse “Windy” Wilson, his boots cleaned and a bulldogger Western tie on his pearl-snap shirt, grinning broadly.

He stood next to the minister as the parishioners came past, one by one and shook Jeff’s hand. Then they shook Windy’s hand … because there it was, outstretched and ready for a shake.

“Bless you,” Windy said. “And a happy May Day!”

“Thank you, Windy,” said Mavis.

“And  … you know why they call it May Day …?

But Mavis was already gone and Windy was already through three more handshakes. These folks were in a hurry.

“Yo Doc … you know why they call it May Day?”

But Doc and Mrs. Doc were already halfway to their car.

“I don’t know about you, Rev,” he whispered, “but these folks are sure in a hurry. Fills me with a consternation at their respirational souls.”

Reverend Jeff just nodded and kept shaking hands. Then they were gone, and it was just Jeff and Windy at the top of the steps.

“They sure move on out, don’t they? Beats me how you can corral ‘em long enough to sermonize ‘em.”

“That’s easy, Windy,” Jeff said. “I shut the door.”

“Have to try that … one of these days.”

“So tell me,” said the smiling minister, “why do they call it May Day?”

“Ah shoot! They got me so flustercated I plumb forgot.”

Brought to you by Dogsled, A True Tale of the North, available now at amazon.com.