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.