The buds push through the gray earth while I’m still swaddled in wool and scarves. Too soon, it seems to me, but they’re tuned into the season’s changes far better than my smartphone-distracted self. Watching the late-season snow fall on them makes me shudder.
But when the morning sun returns, the brave daffodils are standing tall. The sloppy wet snow glistens around them, and their bright yellow petals greet the day.
I used to wish them back in the earth as they made their early appearance, mirroring my own approach to life—with caution and gauging the responses of others around me. Now, I cheer their arrival even as my breath clouds my face. They know better than I of the coming warmth and life, and they’re brave enough to step out in that confidence, when all around them remains in the dead of winter.
I want to be daffodil brave.