The March of the Daffodils

Spring is nearly here, and winter is almost over. Every year I feel like winter gets a little longer, I don't like the coldness, or the darkness, it gets tedious after a while. I'm looking forward to getting in the garden again and flexing my green fingers.

I find winter exhausting and frivolous, you end up spending money on things you don't need just to make yourself feel better, but the truth is nothing will make you better except the warmth of the sun. 

Spring is a gentle reminder that winter is only temporary and while it may not be so warm, it is gentle. Flowers begin to spring from the ground and the March of the daffodils begin.

That first piece of colour splashed all around, a symbol of spring and that life can begin to grow again. The humble bluebells won't take long, they hum a slightly different song. The ancient Greeks believed bluebells were tears that had fallen from a God after a death of a loved one. 

The history of flowers fascinate me. They're so powerful for such a small, fragile and temporary thing. I went to visit a poison garden last year, it was full of deadly plants. I like that. The darkness of all those plants which had been used for so many reasons. It's like you absorb darkness in the winter. 

I see the same darkness in people when I'm wondering around, that's the thing when you remove yourself from the world, you being to notice things. People are absorbed by winter, you can see it on their faces. I've always had an acute ability to read people, but it's only as I got older that I began to learn that was a gift not many have. 

l've always appreciated the beauty of flowers, but it wasn't until I began to really dig my hands in the dirt last spring, when I realised the care each plant requires. Of course wild flowers will always grow. As we step into spring my aura feels brighter, as I'm less burdened by the gentle season.