As evident by my blog picture, I LOVE daffodils! A big 16x20 of the same picture hangs above my mantle. Mid-February, every single year, I begin the "daffodil watch"...just waiting for the first droopy pop of yellow. It's not spring that I'm waiting for. Fall is my all-time favorite season. It's the daffodils.
You'll see them growing in random fields with a naked spot in the center, the only reminder of the old home place. Sometimes there is still a weathered house with the daffodils standing true, the hands that planted them...long gone. Just last week we traveled the rural roads of Chilton and Perry counties to visit our daughter at the one hundred and seventy-five year old women's college that she attends. All along the way were patches of daffodils. Some were peeking out from behind old logs, others were gracing the fence row, all were a gentle reminder that we were not the first to pass this way. Maybe that's what the daffodils whisper to me, that someone before me cherished them too.
Braden came running back into the house this morning after I thought he had left for school. I was just about to fuss at him for slamming the glass door. He greeted me with the same charming smile he had as a four year old little boy and a single yellow daffodil. He gets it!
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