03/30/2019
Every year, just about the time when I couldn’t stand another day of winter, he’d appear with a small stem or two of snowdrops. “Look,” he’d say, “it’s the first flower of spring, summer is on its way.” He’d done this every year I’d known him and when we moved to this house 15 years ago, he transplanted a patch of them from our old house. I hated winter and any sign of spring was encouraging. I remembered this annual tradition earlier today, and was instantly sorrowful, certain I’d missed the bloom time. Generally there’s still snow on the ground…