The poor sad flower, bowed over by the evil snow? Trying so hard to "bloom where it was planted" and feeling like a failure?
The flower that was ME?
Yesterday, without having read my blog, my dear husband went outside and picked it. He said, "It's your LAST daffodil. It's already broken over, so you won't mind if I bring it inside, will you?"
He placed it in a vase of honor. It perked right up and smiled up at me. It even offered it's delicate fragrance to the whole room.
I guess with a little love, anyone can "bloom where they are planted."
(also, the snow has melted.)