One afternoon in late February, I lingered in the yard, enjoying the springlike weather and the sight and sound of many birds. When I saw the daffodils blooming profusely by the sidewalk, I decided to take a photo of them to text to my friend who loves flowers and grows pretty ones in her yard, as well as inside her house. But since it’s been snowing in recent days where she lives, and morning temperatures have been well below freezing, I knew it’d be a while before she’d have flowers in her yard.
After taking several photos, I sat down on a nearby bench to look at them. I chose my favorite one and considered cropping it in order to draw more attention to the blooms. But I hesitated, sensing there were lessons to be learned from the flowers.
For example, one daffodil, once standing tall like the others, was now bent way over. By the wind? By an animal? Yet, it was still lovely, still very much a daffodil despite its droopy appearance.
Close by the clump of yellow and white daffodils, a cluster of tender shoots stood about six inches above the pine straw. Soon they'd be in full bloom and adding bright splashes of color to the landscape.
Although some of the daffodils were more eye-catching than others, all were lovely in their various stages of growth. All were very much alive. All were a vital part of the environment.
Might that be true of people as well?
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