Lone Flower


The year I graduated from high school, Mom planted a dozen crocus bulbs in an old cedar log that she’d fashioned into a planter. It was next to her pathway to the cabin. Year after year they would bloom and be the first hint of spring.

After her death, and a few years before we decided to move to the cabin, the crocuses bloomed without anyone’s notice. But after we moved, I looked forward to their fierce loyalty to push through winter’s last weeks.


Over the decades, Mom’s cedar log planter has all but crumbled away. And one by one the crocuses have disappeared. Maybe age. Maybe a hungry mole.


All but one. 


And now, each March, I wait and wonder if I will see it bloom one more time. 


It did. 


Thank you Mom, for planting them all those years ago. It has reminded me that new seasons come filled with beautiful possibilities ahead.


I think it’s time for me to plant crocus bulbs for the next generation. It’s a small thing, but I’d like to imagine someone else waiting with expectation of all the good things ahead in each new season.




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