There is a lone daffodil bulb outside my kitchen window which doesn’t flower every year but it holds a special significance for me when it does.
‘The day of the daffodil’ is a phrase that reminds me not to worry unduly about job changes, career problems and the like: in due season things will work out, plans fall into place. Spring brings fresh hope and that daffodil in particular acts as a symbol of hope.
Last week it was there smiling at me, telling me not to be downhearted about a particular hiccup in life. Then a hard frost laid it low. I went out and propped it up with some nearby twigs. I wanted my daffodil smiling its hope. If the flower can stand up and carry on then I too can pick myself up and carry on.
All was well for a couple of days then the wind blew it out from the supporting twigs; I looked out the window and there was my beautiful, brave, bold flower back on the ground. This morning I went to the rescue again complete with a piece of string and tied it to the twigs. Brave and bold, my flower, and, viewed from the window, still beautiful, but close up the battering it has endured shows; the petals are damaged.
That particular flower will not recover but the plant will flower again; if not next year, then
maybe the year after. And in the meantime it is bold and bright.
My battered flower remains a symbol of hope.
The daffodil is lovely Rosalie. The truth it holds and proclaims, even lovelier!