This is for you and all my friends, family, fellow bloggers and blogger followers—daisies from my garden.
Flower arranger I am not, but they’re still pretty darn cute. Ole Smeagol had to get in the picture.
After some of the daisies wilted, I rearranged and here they are again.
Here's some shots in their natural environment in my backyard.
Any daisy stories comes to mind? When you were a kid, did you pluck the petals one by one saying, “he loves, he loves me not,” to be surprised at the end with disappointment or joy? Do they remind you of summer rain? Or grandma’s house?