Liss could have been there in two minutes flat. Instead, she dawdled, enjoying the delights of a glorious morning in mid-May. This particular spring in the mountains of central Maine was warm and sweet-scented. The apple blossoms were in bloom, all pink and white and pretty. One tree stood next to the merry-go-round and two others flanked the bandstand. Volunteers had spruced up the flowerbeds that lined the paths through the square, putting in their own particular favorites. Liss strolled past an eclectic assortment. She recognized pansies, bright yellow daffodils, blue forget-me-nots, and the purple of grape hyacinth but was less certain she was correct in identifying creeping phlox, candy tuft, and star of Bethlehem. There were tulips, too, but they were a bit bedraggled, having almost reached the end of their season. The crocuses had already gone by. There would be varieties of iris in bloom soon, Liss thought, and the ever-present lupines would show up in a few weeks, followed in July by one of her personal favorites, orange day lilies.
