They’re pink.

They’re white.

They’re purply, too.

Popping out for all to view.

The azaleas are here.

I took a walk around the neighborhood last weekend and marveled at the number of azaleas. They’re so pretty and joyful. My favorite memory of azaleas is with our old next door neighbor Skippy. He would come into my mom and dad’s yard and steal some white and pink ones and put them in a glass on his bar. Then he’d invite us over for drinks, and he’d ask us to delight in his nice flowers. The nerve! But we knew the charade. He was our jolly azalea thief. He would laugh and laugh and laugh. Tell the same stories he always told. Such a kind soul and caring neighbor. I miss him and his family. Skippy’s in Heaven now, no doubt, singing Frank Sinatra, drinking wine and telling jokes with my dad and grandparents and his friends. Everyone is Skippy’s friend!