A Crocus Conversation

                                    
        "Oh, doesn't that sun feel great!" exclaimed the lavender crocus, opening her petals luxuriously.
        "I'll say," replied the deep yellow one, stretching his stubby stem a little higher.
        "And that south breeze is better than a massage."
        "A massage is just what I need! Getting out of the ground was exhausting this year."
        "Yes, I know," the lavender lady sympathized.  "Fighting all those dead leaves and that layer of road sand."
        "Why do you suppose Mrs. T. planted us in this spot anyway? I loved our old home."
        "But that bed  was getting awfully crowded with so many children."
        "Yeah, but a flower bed's a lot more pleasant than living here among a bunch of flagstones."
        "I wouldn't complain if I were you.  Most of our friends are over there by the woodpile.  The mess of old bark that accumulated over the winter is a lot harder to get through than road sand.  The few who've managed to do it still look battered and bruised from the experience.  The rest haven't even gotten up far enough to feel this great sunshine."
        "Guess you're right.  And once we're all up and blooming, we'll look pretty cute right here in front.  No one even saw us way out there in-"
        "Woe!" the yellow crocus interrupted.  "Here comes Mrs. T."
        "Uh-oh, we may be in for a bit of a squash.  I  think she's forgotten that she put us here last fall."
        "She's obviously planning to do some spring cleaning.  Got a broom and a bunch of buckets.  Sure wish she'd gotten around to it earlier.  Then we wouldn't have had to fight all this debris."
        "Just listen to her," a pale yellow crocus chortled, "she's spotted my cousin coming up there where she's working."
        "Oh, you dear little thing!  Where'd you come from? I'm so sorry.  Did I hurt you?
        "She's sort of batty, isn't she! Do you suppose other humans think they can communicate with the plant world?"
        "Oh, I think gardeners do.  Don't be so hard on her.  After all, she saved almost all our children last fall when she dug up our bed."
        "Well, I sure hope she wakes up and remembers where she put us pretty soon.  She's going crazy with that broom!"
        ""Whew, what an effort!" groaned a deep purple crocus, emerging from around the edge of a flagstone.  "Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.  I didn't think I'd ever see blue sky again."
        "Howdy, friend," said the yellow crocus.  "Glad you made it. Mrs. T hasn't cottoned onto the fact that this is where she put us to bed last October.  She's going at the clean-up with a vengeance."
        "She really gets excited, doesn't she?  Remember when she dug us all us? You'd think she'd found a pot of gold coins."
        "Yeah," added a tiny baby who'd managed to rise above the grit further along the terrace.  What's she-"
        "Oh, you cute things! I do believe I actually planted you here!  I'm so sorry.  Didn't mean to hurt.  I'll be very careful from now on."
        "She's cleaning the ivy.  Those leaves always winterkill along the edge of the porch."
        "Well, you would, too, if you had to sit right out here all winter, one minute freezing to death, the next minute burning up with sunshine."
        "Yes, but look at the ivy climbing up the maple tree over there.  It looks great."
        "That's fancy 198th Street ivy.  It's not supposed to winterkill."
"Get your numbers straight," said the deep purple blossom.  "It's 238th Street ivy.  Somebody from the Brooklyn Botanical Garden found it in the Bronx.  One of Mrs. T's readers brought it to her."
        "Watch it!" the yellow crocus warned suddenly.  "She's headed this way with the broom."
        "She knows we're here though," a small white crocus who'd emerged a few minutes before  pointed out. "See, she's only stepping on the flagstones now, and being very gentle with the broom.  We'll be alright."