each day on our way home from the park, poppy and i pass a small patch of grass,
known as a "greenstreet" here in new york.
poppy always insists on detouring into the little knoll, walking around a tree,
and then re-routing back onto the sidewalk.
sebastian jokes that the plot is poppy's garden, and that she wants to take
the stroll that she can check on the progress of her spring flowers.
imagine my delight when this morning she walked straight to a little purple crocus,
which had sprung up not in the planters, but in the middle of some grass,
surrounded by dried winter leaves.
..........
