One autumn years back I planted a bag of crocus bulbs in a variety I loved. Come spring, not a single one came up. Then one day, walking on the path to our door I noticed a glimpse of color in a very unexpected place. Tucked behind the forsythia hedge, among the ivy and dead leaves were my crocus bulbs. A squirrel had dug them all up and moved them. Over the years they have appeared in fits and starts and this year only a single flower poked through. I was happy to find it and touched by its solitary gleam of spring.