Will spring in all its heady flourishing from here on out remind me of this season of sorrow?

Next year when the peony buds unfist and open and droop under the weight of their beauty, will they force a count — another year without Danny?

My neighbor paused on her way out for a walk recently to tell me that this plaster figure reminds her of Danny. I had always thought of it as female, but now I see it. I see him.

Speaking of the dead, take a look at the sweet little blue flowers of the forget-me-not. Like so many plants in the garden, they tell a story.

After my mother died, I dug up a couple of healthy clumps of forget-me-nots from her yard and planted them out front. With a name like theirs, I thought them a perfect memento — until they all disappeared, that is. They lasted two seasons, maybe.

My mother died in 1996 which means I counted the forget-me-nots as a loss in 1998. So imagine my surprise when this spring, some 28 years later, a brave and lovely forget-me-not showed up among the astilbe.

How does nature do things like this?

With a sense of wonder and gratitude, I moved the little clump to where it would have more room. It lives under the golden chain tree now.

Hi Mom.

We fly to California tomorrow. Since about February, I’ve often been waking between five and six a.m. It’s 5:31 as I type right now. You know what that means, don’t you? In Los Angeles I’ll be waking between 2:00 and 3:00 for at least for a handful of days.

No matter. I can’t wait to see Billy and Cary and the dog Lila and to dwell for a while in that beautiful California light.