Sweet Dispositions

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

William Wordsworth

 

A “host of golden daffodils” has, at long, last arrived.

They were hesitant this year, poking tentatively through the soil, reluctant to display their papery blooms. It has been a particularly  long, cold interlude of expectation for which we are now being rewarded.

 

Glorious clusters of golden beauties are flirting, showing off in groups, alone, in rows and en masse.

 

They are, indeed, “dancing in the breeze” and a delight to behold as they brighten our days with their blousy skirts, vibrant colors and sweet disposition.

 Happy May Day (and Rabbit! Rabbit!)  to all.

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Dancing with the daffodils

Daffodils

by 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 waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be 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.

Sunshine and warmth have finally descended upon the Cutoff, and our daffodils are starting to open, their smiling, cupped faces laughing with spring. Some were here when we arrived on the Cutoff. A few were “borrowed” from a neighboring lot, soon to be plowed under to make way for a new house. A clump was purchased one fall, with hopes of other spring times, but, it is the ones from our friend Jerry that bring us the greatest thrill.

Jerry has cultivated daffodils for many-a-year, sharing bouquets of their buttery colored sweetness and scent with friends and nursing homes around the area, and bulb divisions with eager folks such as me. Although Jerry has not been able to tend to his bulbs as he has in the past, generations still bloom come spring, a few right here on the Cutoff.

I thought of Jerry when I happened upon this poem by William Wordsworth, and then I thought of Bev and her appreciation of Vincent Van Gogh. Here’s to spring, my dear readers, and to good friends!

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