All of spring was a drawn-out birthday. Spears of green shot skyward in the flower beds and unfolded their mystery from week to week, the forsythia exploded in yellow confetti, and the old-fashioned roses bloomed, spreading a heady scent through the breezes.
No city shop can compare to sending children outside with a pair of shears and having them return with color.
Thank you, Grandma, thank you, Mrs. Dingman, and thank you, Aunt Alice, for planting presents we're still opening years later.
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Type when the red light turns green. Ready? Go!