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.
~William Wordsworth


About a mile from our house, through a four-way stop and around a curve, a treasure of daffodils blooms each spring. Caramel-colored pine needles carpet the land; towering trees hold hands like siblings. A squarely simple graveyard from decades ago rests in a far corner, but it is not forgotten.

Cars cluster like ants along the road, as determined adults carry and direct their brood around and between the daffodils, searching for the perfect spot. Weathered wooden benches, antique rocking chairs, nana's quilt...all are nestled strategically in columns of light that filter through the canopy of trees. Ruffles and lace, plaids and stripes envelop the children as they sit like statues in front of flashing lights from mother and father photographers. Occasionally, a free-spirited, dimply legged baby toddles through and on top of the daffodils, despite the sweating mother's pleas and crazy father antics.

Voices of love and spring bounce off the barks of the trees, as priceless moments are lived.


Jonah, 18 months, March 2011

It is but for a short time. The flowers wilt as the weeks march on, but hope remains. The daffodils return, year after year, to welcome both the children of years past and the children of the years to come.


Jonah, 6 months old, 2010

Savor the daffodils...

Savor the times...

Take a picture.