The blossom interrupted my morning walk. A daisy, the yard’s first of 2020.

Daisies aren’t sentient in a human way. Still, they evoke happiness, so I go along. Like the pollinators for whom plants make their flowers, I am drawn in.

Flowers have personalities, or so I like to think. If daisies (and daffodils) are happy, then roses are regal, petunias joyous, irises rakish, tulips stately, marigolds sunny, carnations unpretentious and orchids snooty.

But daisies are special.

Some years ago, I got a daisy seed packet in a home-improvement store promotion. The packet lay on a garage shelf for a year or more.

Finally, in spring about six years ago, I planted the seeds in two pots. The plants grew and produced a handful of blossoms. Come fall, the stalks stiffened and died.

The next spring, I transplanted the new season’s early stems into ground around the mailbox. Ever since, we’ve had a growing profusion of happiness.

It was there, on June 3, that a single blossom beckoned. I spent a long moment in contented admiration.

Oh happy, happy daisies!