I slid the stem of one lone daffodil into a treasured old vase days ago, and I move it around with me from room to room. Its happy pop of bright yellow always delights and especially today. Who thought it’d be snowing on the first of April? Temperatures fell from seventy something earlier this week to thirty something, and I’m glad the wood’s still stacked on the side porch. Before long, I had a fire going — and the irony of a daffodil displayed in front of a roaring fire did not escape me.
Approaching the room later, I could only guess that the pace of my walking coincided with the movement of a cloud from in front of the sun because the daffy-down-dilly grew brighter and brighter with each step. The urge to grab the camera — my D850 back from repair! — could not be ignored.
