Transmutation. It’s a 6.

She walked this day, as always up hills, down hills, rounding curves, greedily sucking the sun from the sky – reveling in early Spring who’d arrived surreptitiously under cover of night.

Trees, eager to show off buds, did so gradually over the weeks prior, slowly awakening from winter’s slumber, branches evidence new life would soon overshadow winter’s pall.

Pops of color dotted the landscaped buildings and apartment homes – cherry blossom trees and forsythia bushes trumpeting amongst the pines and still dormant oaks, with nary a peep out of the maples they, shy about making an early entrance.

Soon, bolstered by nature’s bold display, peacefulness permeated the air and walking transformed to gliding, transformed to simple standing upon magical moving pavement, an autowalk.

Daring the greater distance, casting caution to the lightest of breezes, she continued until the cawing of the crows announced circumnavigation nearly complete.

Coming upon a newly mulched bed, bordered by berry bushes, barren of companions but for one lone spot of butter cup brightness, a single daffodil stood, head bowed in service.