4-27-21 Daffodils and Dandelions

I went on a walk today. The forecasted thunderstorm held off for me so I could wind my way around the nearby neighborhood and breathe deep the moist, spring air. The scent of the world smelled so satisfactory today that I sigh in contentment just thinking about it….

Ok, I had to get up to go open the balcony doors in an attempt to catch a bit more of that earthy fragrance. As I walked today I had a purpose. I wanted to appreciate nature – I looked for flowers and plants and I saw many, most of which made me smile. But it was also trash day, it turns out, and it appeared to be bulk item trash day at that. A significant portion of the houses I passed had large items next to their trash cans. So, while I enjoyed nature, I also enjoyed looking at people’s trash and getting a slight glimpse into their lives. There were couches, grills, fans, rugs, and a stack of window blinds. With each step I felt lighter and happier, knowing that warmer days are almost here.

At one point, I passed a man who was also out walking. He was on the other side of the street and he appeared to be having a conversation via phone because as we neared each other, I heard him say “daffodils and dandelions” into an ear piece.

Daffodils and dandelions. I feel like that’s a pretty accurate phrase to describe spring here, at least one aspect of it. And because of its alliteration, and perhaps because with spring comes a bit of magic, the phrase stuck with me. It inspired me to write the below poem:

Daffodils and dandelions,
yellow splashes
of springtime flowers,
one a welcome sight,
one a weed.
We prune and preen and pray that one grows and that the inevitable spring snow will not crush its beauty.
We tug and twist and pray that we’ve gotten enough of the other’s root to prevent further growth and that the inevitable spring snow will utterly destroy any remains.

Daffodils and dandelions
Like bees and wasps,
also yellow,
also spring,
delighting in one and abhorring the other,
this never ending cycle comes again and again,
and yet,
each time,
there is something new and we never tire.
There is new birth and new life,
there is new growth and new buds,
and there are
daffodils and dandelions.

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