I took Rhea - I think Beverley and Dad both like to see her, and she likes to see them - after all, they are both easy marks for treats. Upon arrival, I took her for a little stroll to see the growing patches of snowdrops in blossom, and a completely unexpected patch of tiny purple crocuses. I don't recall them being here before, in the middle of what was the side yard, but here they are. Delicate, tiny little things pushing through the overgrown thatch of grass and leaves that weren't blown away before snow trapped them in place. 
We pass the overgrown lilac bushes along the driveway - need to remember to trim them back soon - and walk down the pseudo-steps to get to the side yard. Turning back, I see swaths of daffodils and narcissus plants also struggling against the leaves piled next to the garage, pushing upward, ever upward, waiting for just enough days that are just warm enough to blossom themselves.
I can't decide if I took for granted Mom's love of flowers or if it was just so much a part of who she was that it just seemed natural. But I look at the snowdrops, the crocus, the daffodils and the narcissus and I think to myself, "One of these days, I need to come transplant some of these to my house."
I guess that would be like having a little bit of Mom at home with me.
