Fortunately for the flower, my wife saw it first. Just last week I beat a crocus to death. But now that the bloom of life has actually been witnessed, I shall have to switch to a slow poison.
The daffodil transformed my wife into a giddy eco-terrorist. She’s out in the yard wondering why other stuff she planted in the fall isn’t growing.
Our backyard is the size of France. And, like France, I have a dream of seeing it one day completely covered with concrete. But in one huge corner my wife showed me where to have my first heart attack.