Hanging out in the backyard of my family home in the ’70s, my young self dressed in green shorts and a matching green tank top my mom had sewn(as she did in those days and for many years to come), I wandered around admiring the array of blooms planted and unwanted from the orange lilies planted at the back of our house to the white petaled daisies to the dandy lions peeking through after the Saturday mowing by my dad.
My young heart was already then looking to make someone smile, so that day a hand-picked bouquet for my mom was first on my mind. As I gathered an array of blooms, my eye caught the pretty petals of the daisies as they sat perfectly in the gathered bouquet in my little fist.
I remembered the children’s rhyme: “He loves me… He loves me not… He loves me”.. and as…
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