Digressions: My Life in 500 Words or Less

They appear every year in our backyard. We never planted them. We inherited them.

Crocuses.

When we first saw them, all the crocuses were the same color. In years afterward, crocuses of different colors arrived, blossoming at different times. Sometimes only a few crocuses would pop up. Sometimes more than a dozen would appear during the course of a couple of weeks.

The crocuses seem to have been planted in random spots just off our back patio, although, at times, several will form what appear to be rows. But they all bloom in open yard, so it just seems odd.

Over the years, we’ve come to know we can’t predict what we’ll see, other than whatever pops up will be beautiful. This year is no exception.

About a week ago they started popping up. Several yellow ones bloomed the same way they always do: seemingly overnight.

Then a few days ago, a couple of purple ones popped up. Rebecca and I were happy to have two colors this year.

Then, when I took the dogs out about lunch time, there is was: a white one.

We got all three colors simultaneously.

Crocuses don’t bloom for a long time. Our yellow crocuses have all but died away, and the purple ones are fading.

Still, they are tiny bursts of color amid a sea of brown grass; they are reminders that true beauty does not need to be ostentatious.

They are consistent harbingers of Spring.

They are reminders that true beauty is perennial.