Reflexii în Oglinda

When I was a child, our yard was always dotted with cheerful primroses, their bright blooms spreading freely across the grass. My mother was the one who brought them home—she had dug up a few resilient little plants from a roadside median, tucked them into the earth, and watched as they thrived and multiplied. To her, they were “buttercups,” a name that suited their sunny, unpretentious beauty.  

Now, whenever I see them, I’m reminded of her—her resilience, her ability to find beauty in unexpected places, and the quiet way she nurtured life wherever she went. Those flowers are more than just plants; they’re living echoes of her presence. I’ll always cherish them in my yard, not just for their vibrant color, but for the way they keep her memory rooted in my world.  

My attempt to participate in "Reflexii în Oglinda.”