Visiting a Southern City in March meant that I saw flowers blooming everywhere: pots of flowers on street corners, flowers blooming in historical gardents near old mansions, and whole hillsides of yellow daffodils. One path that I walked each day at the retreat center followed stone steps up past bushes filled with flowers; some had even passed their prime and fallen already. It seemed extravagant, somehow, after a winter of white and grey, to see pink and red scattered across the ground.
