One Day in Spring

DAFFODIL: Regard, rebirth, new beginnings, unrequited love, you're the only one, chivalry.
DAFFODIL, SEVERAL: Joy, happiness.

The 'meaning' of flowers is said to have evolved from the medieval and Renaissance period. Artists of that time attached rich visual symbolism to different blooms, and managed to aptly capture the 'essence' of emotions in which each flower evoked.

It's no wonder why flowers are given on special occasions. But let's not delve into that.

Isn't it amazing how flowers are able to affect moods? Just today, I took a rather lengthy walk with Danielle and we were (or, at least I was) instantly cheered by a sea of daffodils growing willy nilly on the grass patches at Clapham Common.

We stood there in silence - almost afraid that a single utterance from us would destroy that quiet moment of Beauty.

They were God-sent, those flowers. Just the boosters I needed today, and perhaps a little while longer. God certainly has sweet ways of telling you He's there and that everything will be alright...

I told Danielle that the Daffodil was my favourite flower today. I scarcely think she will remember it. Nevertheless, I hope when she looks at them some day, they will fill her with a distinct sense of déjà vu.

And she will remember the indescribable joy those daffodils brought Mummy, that beautiful day in Spring.

Even great poets have been touched by the daffodils' quiet charm. William Wordsworth describes them in a way I never could. Through his poem, he pays homage to the daffodil I feel it so rightfully deserves.

Daffodils - William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.