Sitting on the back deck this afternoon, I noticed that the saffron colored crocuses (croci?) are already popping through the leafy flowerbed.  Considering that little w. had something to do with the planting of the bulbs and that our backyard is home to a marauding band of squirrels, the blooming of these bulbs is quite a feat.

Despite many years spent reading Jane Austen and her like, I have never mastered my flower symbolism.  After a highly authoritative google search, I have learned that instead of shelling out the big bucks for a bouquet of roses from the guy on the street corner, you could just head over to your local park and pick a tiny bunch of crocuses in order to symbolize  cheerfulness or gladness, particularly appropriate for a young love (too late, I suppose, for most of us wizened adults).

According to another highly authoritative source (this time wikipedia), Mr. Krokus was another unhappy mortal who had the delight of being turned into a plant, this time the crocus.   His partner Smilax (which honestly sounds like it might be the name of Glaxo’s next superstar drug), met a refreshingly similar end.




  1. Amy said

    Smilax? really? It does sound like a super duper laxative.. I’ll have Jason get right on making that drug!

  2. eluet said

    And the name would make you think of how happy you’d be when the laxative takes effect!

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