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.