By evening, my trusty Fitbit indicated a serious step deficit, so after I put Brady to bed, I headed out for a solo stroll. As I walked around a nearby cul de sac, I saw these:
Pretty pink geraniums. My childhood was, in a quite literal sense, filled with flowers. Marigolds and zinnias at the end of the driveway along the country road that bordered grandma and grandpa's parcel. African violets in pert little pots in the sewing room. Chrysanthemums and daffodils in the yard by the side of the first house I ever knew as home. Tiny purple violets dotting the nursery. Dandelions punctuating the lawn's green expanse. And of course, geraniums spilling over the edges of hanging pots.
Beautiful and so alive. It's a blessing to have been surrounded by so much loveliness, even if I didn't notice it much of the time.
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