Clover sings to me.

The warmth of the changing seasons is welcomed like an old family friend. We must rush to enjoy it before the mosquitoes arrive. HubbyDear does all the grunt work like digging up stubborn holly roots. I just play in the dirt and laugh when I dig up squiggly earthworms, sons and daughters of those original worms introduced several years ago. In the mornings, I go out with a cup of coffee and applaud every plant's return,  proof of resilience and determination.

Round mound of clover. Round is a pleasing shape.

In the cool of the day, my clover plants sing to me about never giving up. In summers past, they  lined the flowerbed under the tree that used to be in front of the kitchen window. That tree died and was removed before my parents moved into this house and the clovers became part of the lawnmower's path. But in between mowing, those determined bright green clumps, a trio of heart shaped leaves, push through the carpet grass and smile at me. I dug some clumps up and planted them in the flower bed around my back porch, safe from the mower's blades. Under the soil, the roots look like tiny onion bulbs. Above the soil these friendly plants become perfectly round and reward me with small pink flowers made of five petals.

In the soft morning light, the five petals are curled up snuggly. Sun will warm them up soon and gently coax them to greet the day.

This clump of clover lives in a hanging basket. She likes it there.