I found her today, this rogue beauty from last year’s blooms. She is one of a single pair of survivors of my 2019 amateur gardening skills. Her sister viola had been transplanted last fall from my whiskey barrel to a forgotten window box at the edge of the yard; I thought she was the only one salvaged from the season. It turns out, though, you don’t just have to bloom where you’re planted. Sometimes you’re discarded, thought to be dried up and gone, but you claw your way through the cracks, rooting down in the crevices of unlikely places to bring a little life and color to the world as you know it.
