I have crocus popping open all over the yard 
this morning. Many of the bulbs were planted the first fall we were in 
the house 37 years ago.  But some were here before us. Every spring as 
these little beauties start to bloom I think about the
 person before me who dug a little hole and planted a bulb hoping mother
 nature would work her miracle and produce shades of purples and yellows
 in the spring. 
 I hope, after I no longer live here, the next person 
will look at the these little spring flowers blooming all through the 
lawn and wonder about the me.
 

 



















