Oh, that they do, these yellow gerbera blooms... Kin to the great towering sunflowers, they drink in morning light and hold it within the frilly tutus of their petals. Then they dish it out like honey, and even the old garden roses behind are moved and uplifted by their frothy golden magnificence, the almost imperceptible swaying movement and sweet sighing music of their pleasure.
Sometimes I falter in the midst of winter, as all living northern creatures must from time to time. I mourn the dearth of light in the snowy world beyond the windows and am filled with longing. Then I remember how a garden loves the light in summer, and I am renewed - I do a little blooming of my own within.