Years ago, Mari and I planted daffodil bulbs in the grass, next to where we park, at our log house. We had no intent of coddling the little critters. If they wanted light, they would have to push up through the grass for it. They did. Now, every spring, they come up first, look around for deer and rabbits, and turn toward the sun.
There is something lovely about coming down the grassy road, to discover that something beautiful has happened, whether we worried about it, or not.
Later in the Spring, when the blossoms have gone, I will mow the grass, remembering that down there, daffodils are napping, again, and will rise early in the Spring, and listen for the gate to open.
There is something lovely about coming down the grassy road, to discover that something beautiful has happened, whether we worried about it, or not.
Later in the Spring, when the blossoms have gone, I will mow the grass, remembering that down there, daffodils are napping, again, and will rise early in the Spring, and listen for the gate to open.
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