It officially feels like spring, finally. I had a meeting today an hour and a half away, at a lower elevation. On the drive over, I saw the seasons progress. This morning it was cold, a cloudless blue sky at sunrise, marked with only the searing white contrails of four planes heading west. The sunrise as I came over Old Fort Mountain was breathtaking. Coming down the mountain, the sun was warmer, the season further progressed. Not only were the daffodils blooming yellow along the interstate, but the cherry trees glowed pink as well.
My absolute favorite flowers are daffodils. I love the way they signify the arrival of spring, our annual reminder of the season of new beginnings. I love how strong and faithful they are - returning every year, over and over again. I love that they are simple, and unassuming, and bright sunny yellow. I love that you can find daffodils marking old homesteads, lining paths long gone in abandoned coal mining towns, bordering front stoops now found only in memory and photograph. We gave out daffodil bulbs as our wedding favors, and I love to think that every year at this time, a little reminder of our lovely day arrives in the yards and gardens of friends and family around the world. I love that daffodils return even after those who planted them are gone. I love that the daffodils my mother tended are still signaling spring at my family home in Ohio, even though she's no longer there to enjoy them.
Today was a perfectly beautiful spring day. I spent most of it working - have spent most of the past several weeks working more than I like to - but with the longer evening light we managed to fit in an hour of front yard playtime after work. In recent weeks I have had so little time for Dora - because of work, because of other new projects, because of sheer exhaustion from all of my responsibilities. That little hour of playtime in the sun was perfect.
It was perfect for building a rock sculpture on the steps.
It was perfect for gathering sticks from the yard, beginning to clean out the beds. It was perfect to admire the little spikes of green slowly emerging from the earth, the sweet purple crocus already blooming as the yard's earliest spring arrival.
It was a perfect reminder of the new beginning that spring represents, that warm days are around the corner. It was a perfect day to think of all the daffodils emerging all around us, strong and beautiful and unassuming, quietly honoring the hands that have tended them ages ago. It was a perfect day to feel the sun on our faces, looking forward and looking back all at once.