Mum, it is spring. I wake up to chirruping birds and only need to wear a cardie to work. The daffodils are out, and the evenings are longer and every single shop is stacked with chocolate eggs.
I picture you on your hands and knees, prodding at the bulbs in the back garden in Norfolk. I can hear the 'snip snip' of your shears and smell the ozone in the air all around you. Spring was your season, and without you I feel lost. My daffodils wilted last week and I left them as they were for several days. Sorry Mum.
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