On raising your head

It must be one of those comic quirks of nature that as Spring finally emerges from the gray palette of winter that the daffodil, and this is perhaps why it is so beloved of those watching out for dark days breaking through to light, is one of the first to raise it's bonny-buttery, yolky yellow sun shine head to the sky and proclaim SPRING!!!! In it's yellow glory. So bright, so vivid, so well, laughable. How can anyone fail to smile at a row of daffodils waving their over-heavy heads, rather gaily and if perhaps not elegant they certainly charm the pants off where others fail. This week and last has been a slow unfurling of us and everything outside seems to mirror us (or is it us-them?) - this lengthening of the spine and tipping back of the head, the in and out breathe catching glimmers of warmth and damp sensual growth. Life is happening and we are in the middle of it, are it, it is us... and so being outdoors has become again a part of our lives, the outdoorness that seemed lost in the endless days of winter but not quite forgotten.



Swinging leisurely hours away on the swing, gazing at tiny white buds above.

Digging in the sand in t-shirts feeling the warmth of that milky first sun.

Walking early in the day rather than late.

Sitting on a sun warmed step (yes it's true! the sun actually warmed it up!)

And enjoying every split second of sweeping away of dead leaves for the compost in the gentle breeze.

The pulling of a heavy child along wheels on sweet new grass.

Smiling and savouring the baby's first experiences of touching and feeling the outdoors.



And the daffodils. The daffodils. Sweet sign and reminder that all life forgotten will be reborn, re nourished, strengthened, returned to us. Endlessly. Repeating, wonderfully. And of our job? Ours is only to be fascinated, in that every-day way and seep ourselves in the undergrowth, the lime-new leaves, the trinkle of the water, the murky, the fresh, the dank, the joyful. And of course the daffodil. Simple, easy, slow, joyful.