anticipation

We first saw our house last April. I have vague memories of seeing the remains of spring bulbs along the east side of the house then. This year, when spring began, I went around to check for sprouts. Sure enough, there they were, and there were just tons of them.

Every weekday morning for the past several weeks, when my alarm would go off, I'd grumble a bit, put my glasses on, stand up and peek out through the blinds to see if I had any flowers. And every morning so far, the answer has been, "not yet."

On Saturday, I made a closer inspection. I wasn't certain what exactly I was looking at -- maybe daffodils, but the leaves weren't pointed at the top. Not wide enough to be tulips. Too tall to be most of the other spring bulbs I'm familiar with. And then the little voice in the back of my head said, "Isn't that where the surprise lilies bloomed last summer?"

Checked with Google and mom, and sure enough, that's what they are. The foliage should die back later this spring, and then I'll be back to waiting, waiting, waiting until they finally decide to bloom.

In August.