Flowers only bloom  when they are planted in the right soil. That is also true for me. I first moved to Foxboro, Massachusetts, as a single mother with my baby daughter, Darcy. I was drawn to its New England beauty, friendly people and rich history. It happened that there were a lot of forsythia  bushes around the house in which I lived just like my childhood home. I joined St. Mark's Episcopal Church where I taught the Sunday school. At church, I met my second husband, Dean. For more than 25 years, I bloomed in Foxboro, and I had another two children. Then, when Darcy was a few years out of college, she moved to Alameda, California, to be near friends. I missed her badly. A year later my beloved husband Dean had deadly cancer. He only made it eight months. My heart was broken. Later I moved to Alameda with my children. It was a beautiful Victorian island, and I was grateful to spend more time with Darcy. I even attended a church and made a few friends there. Still, I couldn't help but miss Foxboro. It had everything and everyone I loved. One spring day, when I was walking by a school, something yellow caught my eyes. Forsythia bushes! They made me homesick and I kept back my tears. "I miss you, Foxboro," I whispered. Then I went into a shop and looked at some ceramic  pots lined up on a shelf. A large white one seemed to catch my attention. "That'll be perfect in my living room," I thought. I turned it over to look at the price. Instead I found these words: "New England Pottery, Foxboro, Massachusetts." A piece of artwork, from my second hometown, was right here. It was able to spread across the country and so were forsythia bushes. I took it as a sign that I can bloom, right where I am. Why does the author compare herself to flowers?
Because she wanted to show she likes flowers. Because she can live in any place that is right like flowers. Because she moved across the country just like flowers. Because girls are like flowers that are blooming.