We are in that strange period of time; Kind of like spring, but kind of not, sixty during the day, freezing at night. Soil is tilled, even have some things planted, but the world is still ruled by multi shades of brown.
But if you look close, under the thicket of dried grass, and past the tumbling leaves, you see them. With a green so dark it almost goes unnoticed; a shoot rises up from the soil blanketed by bars of tan stalks. And if you look especially close you may see a purple flower no bigger than a dime but far more precious for this is the currency of spring, the down payment for the changing of the guard.
Crocuses may seem like bribes, both out of place and unfair in such a drab world but it is a cost that must be paid. Perhaps it is a tax, if so it is the most welcome one to be sure since it would allow the scepter to finally pass to the next ruling season.
It seems like such a waste to see such beauties lost to the world of brown but we should be thankful for the sacrifice. For without such willingness where would we be?
Perhaps this sacrifice is the reason for crocuses, perhaps they were placed here for this very purpose. So then let us fill the world with crocuses, let the purple and pink, the yellow and white, let them bloom in all their splendor so the price may be paid and we can enter the glories of spring.