#317 - Joyful and Triumphant

After a difficult day at work with a class full of fractious pre-teens, I was really hoping my husband had walked the dog. Turns out I was glad he hadn't. If he had, I would've missed these. Made me think of a Grace Nichols poem I haven't read in years:

...pulling on my old black jacket

resolutely winding

a scarf round and round my neck

winter rituals I had grown to 

accept

with all the courage of an unemerged 

butterfly

I unbolted the door and stepped outside

only to have that daffodil baby

kick me in the eye

(from 'Spring' by Grace Nichols)

#177 - Trumpets

We are distinctly short on daffodils in our part of the city - I see plenty in gardens, and further afield they are growing by the roadside, but they are either late, as the ones in my garden are, or absent, which is a shame. All the delicate blossom, and the easily bruised crocus, announce Spring well enough, but it never seems quite definitely here without the fanfare of the daffodils.