Gnomes: genre undetermined

The gnome sat quietly under the crocus, minding his own business. His hat was chipped, and the jolly red painted on his cheeks had worn away to a pastel pink over the sunshine of years, but still he sat. She hesitated outside the gate, her hand lingering on the latch. She couldn't believe it was really the same gnome. The house had changed hands so many times over the course of the last decade, it was ridiculous to think that not one of the owners was a gnome-hater. They were everywhere, of course. And she never had understood. She squinted. Was that something red on the rooftop, by the corner of the front peak?

Inspiration: Something about crocuses.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Bo-ring. Though the gnomes are reproducing!