I've always considered the act of planting bulbs to be an expression of hope and happiness. As I work I imagine 50 years from now - when I am dead and gone. And the new owner of my beloved home has mowed down all my gardens. These bulbs will bloom every season, in wide straight lines, the skeleton of a garden coming to life briefly. And with it, the life that nurtured that garden so lovingly. Bulbs cannot be put down or discouraged. They will bloom every year. And there I will be, with them. Still alive in every flower.
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