There's an elderly man in my neighbourhood who keeps the most beautiful gardens. They're not manicured; everything's grown in great wild swathes.
He has a grey pencil moustache and when I've passed by with the kids, he's snipped a large bloom and handed it to Leif. They both know flowers aren't just for girls.
His lot is extra deep, in a spectacular location, with a small old house on it, and he'd make out like a bandit if he sold it. But I suspect that doesn't interest him in the least.
Sometimes he cuts fresh flowers and scatters them next to the sidewalk for the neighbourhood children to find. He's not just deadheading spent blossoms - he picks them when they're at their most glorious.
I don't know his name, but from what little I do know of him, I like him immensely.