Though I cannot pen a poem to save my life, I can understand how many wax poetic in regard to flowers. There’s just something about them. And mornings are best. It’s in the morning the sun peeks over the fence, the squirrels chatter, the birds sing, the butterflies dance–and I am fairly certain, amid it all, the flowers laugh.
One of these days I’m not going to let dragging the hose around make me grouchy. One of these days I’m going to join the party. Who knows? It just might be the key to my own sweet success.