I have had my eye on those five mums in Brooklyn on the street near 7th and 5th for about two months now.  One, in her prime, was golden, the other red, a third gold and red, a fourth a kind of purple and the fifth a plain old mauve, the kind I already have.  Then on Christmas Day, I realized they were still there, dead in that way that mums die after blooming: dry, all color drawn, half green and half brown.  We were coming back from the park, letting our three year old grandson lead the way home.  (He does know his way.)  I decided they were orphans and that I could take them.  Now they are in my New York backyard, ready for their Easter.  I hope the mauve surprises me enough to help me give thanks for the colors I already have.