My husband came home from a week away just in time to catch my cold. We holed up for the weekend, warm blankets and tea keeping us company.
We drove to the shop today, finally snivel-free and bright-eyed, and I spotted some daffodils growing by the side of the road. The tired grass here on our little peninsula in Chepstow is still browned with winter. The dark green daffodil plants were stark against the grass and easy to spot, even in a car going 40 MPH. I imagine they’ve grown rogue, having originated at some point or another from someone’s garden.
It all reminded me of a poem I read once, about daffodils: