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like a crocus

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me well. My favourite day of the year isn’t Christmas or my birthday or even the first day the kids return to school in the fall. Those are wonderful times, but they pale in comparison to the best day of all; the day the crocuses return.

These little prairie gems definitely have my heart. It’s not that they’re necessarily grand or’s what they represent. They’re pretty and delicate, but tough as nails. They patiently wait for their turn to come around every year. They weather any kind of storm, and survive even the harshest prairie winters by simply biding their time. Then, when the ground warms even just a bit, they burst forth in an impressive display of beauty. Each year as spring rolls around, I start to feel that it might be time to check. This year, I went out once and didn’t spot any. I scoured the ground but saw no sign of the brilliant purple buds. A few days later, I tried again and was richly rewarded for my efforts. If you’ve ever hunted for crocuses you know how it goes. As soon as you spot one, dozens seem to appear before your eyes. I smile every time, and I always shed a few tears. I take a deep breath and receive the message the blooms send me. Be tough, be persistent, stay a little bit soft; and your time will come. You know those online quizzes that try to match your personality with an inanimate object? "If you were a flower, which flower would you be?" I think I’d be a crocus. Maybe I already am.

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