From the first petal in spring to the last leaf of autumn, my daughter loves showering me with “flowers.” Nothing is too humble or lowly for her notice and admiration. Weeds, blades of grass, and the most ornate flowers equally receive her doting and delight.
Still, she surprises me. When winter sets in and the world is robed in brown and gray, she comes to me all the same, tiny hands full of tiny treasure. “A flower, momma!” Yes, sweet girl, a winter flower.
Dry, and brown, and dead — a weed even in its humble days of living. But you see beauty. And you help me see beauty even in these long winter days.
