another spring

Our house stands in a shady yard of tree roots and clay soil.  There is no grass.  When we put in a raised bed, it took three years for weeds to grow.

So it melts my heart to see the lone daffodil beside the basement window.

In a stealth garden maneuver, my mother planted a few bulbs around the house.  This particular flower does not have the loud technicolor I see in neighbor’s gardens.  Rather, it has cream-colored petals and the palest yellow trumpet. 

My mother planted it when our college-aged son was a toddler.  Eager to visit their grandchild, she and my father would drive out for the day to babysit or help paint a room.  That was when we had birthdays together with my mother’s favorite carrot cake or my father’s favorite lemon pie. 

She planted bulbs knowing about the joy a little yellow flower would bring each spring.

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About diane heath

Beauty as a 40 Day Spiritual Discipline. The rest of the year, visit me at The Sacred Ordinary (and the ordinary ordinary).
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