Ah, daffodils.

My daffodils are popping up! I was worried that they wouldn't pop up at all, an experience that would make me the absolute worst gardener ever, considering daffodils are so easy to grow. But a few days ago, one brave little bud broke his way through the dirt, and now his friends are following.

I never cared much for daffodils until my year abroad in Swansea. The Welsh winter was hanging heavily over my head and heart, and it seemed like everything was depressing. But sometime in March, my mood began to change course. For weeks I had noticed clumps of what looked like onion roots in grass patches along the bus root into town. One particularly gloomy day I was gazing out the window on my way into town and I realized what all those "onion roots" really were. Daffodils. Happy, yellow, bouncy daffodils all over town. No matter how gloomy the weather was, or how dismal my spirits were, those bubbly little flowers just wouldn't quit. Even when a violent storm was brewing that was sure to break their stalks and rip off their petals, the daffodils were happy. The winds blew, and they bounced about like they were dancing. It was like they were partying at their own funeral: bobbing around in the wind to the tune of music only they could hear. Some of the daffodils survived the storm, though they were a little worn from all their partying.

I think I love daffodils so much because they are brave flowers. They are like little messengers of spring, popping up before all the other flowers to make sure everything is all set for everyone else's arrival. They light up winter with their yellow and bouncy attitudes while they are there, then bravely fall shortly after.