Once, a long time ago, when I was insanely young, I met a man – a guru of sorts – who, to me, seemed very old and wise (I think he may have been in his late 40s). This man had just married a young (21 or so) girl who was massively pregnant with another man’s child. She was crazy sweet, madly innocent – long hair – and yes, flowers in her hair.
They lived in what I can only describe as a shack. That it had running water was a miracle. It sat in the middle of a field of weeds – all weeds. I don’t think there was a single blade of actual grass. My husband and I visited them once or twice. My husband went to sit at the feet of the master and talk about existential matters of great wisdom (!). I went along because – well, I went along. I believe his name was John and he was practicing Primal Scream at the time. I actually had a session with him.
But that’s not the point of this story. Here’s the point. The second time we visited, this beautiful young girl greeted us at the door – it was early spring and warm – and excitement was writ large all over her face. Her eyes were sparkling. Her smile was full of wonder.
“Look what we have!” she said. “Just look what this house has blessed us with!” She pointed to a jar of yellow dandelions on the kitchen table.
“We have flowers!” she said. “The entire yard is full of flowers!”
And it was true – a sea of dandelions covered the yard and I don’t think I have ever seen anyone so enthralled with flowers before or since.
And that’s exactly how I feel about our daffodils. For the second year in a row, I look down at the far field and see three clumps of ravishingly beautiful daffodils – white and yellow. And I go and pick them and put them in glass jar and place them on the kitchen table.
“Look what this place has blessed us with!”