I Like Monday 13
Mar. 31st, 2014 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rhondacrockettIt's spring! So this Monday, I like... daffodils.
Image taken from The Guardian. Photograph is copyright Nicolette Wells/Getty Images/Flickr RF.
Daffodils are one of the happiest flowers on the planet. Roses are way too associated with the up-and-down rollercoaster of romantic love to be truly happy. Bluebells, primroses and snowdrops are sweet but shy; they get anxious in the presence of too many people. Pansies and petunias are more social but I get the impression that they can be spiteful little bitches. Sweet peas remind me of pale, shut-in Victorian ladies, always kind but withering away underneath in quiet unhappiness. Camellias are a bit air-headed, rhododendrons are crass bullies, foxgloves are too snooty.
But daffodils, and their pretty little sisters, the narcissi*, don't have a care in the world. They come out in blustery, changeable March like a burst of sunshine, with their big, bold trumpets and vivid green leaves. No skulking under hedgerows or languishing against a wall or clustering in a clique-ish flowerpot. They don't need to be cosseted in a flowerbed; they grow up amidst the grass and laugh at the idea that other garden flowers might consider them 'common' for doing so.
They like being in groups, nodding and chattering away with one another. There's no sense of animosity, mistrust or paranoia. They are self-confident, friendly, always accepting of others. They love the wind, which makes them dance, and the sunshine, which makes them glow, and they are tough enough to stay cheerful even on the cold, grey days when winter threatens to come back again. If those trumpets could play, I bet that every tune would be a happy one, which make your feet itch to dance.
Then there's their smell. I don't think people think of daffodils as scented flowers - the kudos there always goes to the overpowering perfumes of roses, gardenias and lavender - but they do. The fragrance is clean, sharp, a little like citrus and a little like bleach. You have to lean right into the trumpet to get it, so that the petals tickle the end of your nose. It's the smell of spring, of new growth which doesn't need to be over-sweet or strong; it's too busy just enjoying being alive.
In fact, the only thing I don't like about daffodils is the Wordsworth poem; it's just too self-centred (that whole 'wandering lonely as a cloud' business, ugh, what a poser). Dorothy, on the other hand, captured the egalitarian happiness of daffodils much better. So here's to the laughing, golden daffodil - and here's to spring!
* The plural of 'narcissus' can be 'narcissus', 'narcissuses' or 'narcissi' - I just have a personal preference for the latter.
Image taken from The Guardian. Photograph is copyright Nicolette Wells/Getty Images/Flickr RF.
Daffodils are one of the happiest flowers on the planet. Roses are way too associated with the up-and-down rollercoaster of romantic love to be truly happy. Bluebells, primroses and snowdrops are sweet but shy; they get anxious in the presence of too many people. Pansies and petunias are more social but I get the impression that they can be spiteful little bitches. Sweet peas remind me of pale, shut-in Victorian ladies, always kind but withering away underneath in quiet unhappiness. Camellias are a bit air-headed, rhododendrons are crass bullies, foxgloves are too snooty.
But daffodils, and their pretty little sisters, the narcissi*, don't have a care in the world. They come out in blustery, changeable March like a burst of sunshine, with their big, bold trumpets and vivid green leaves. No skulking under hedgerows or languishing against a wall or clustering in a clique-ish flowerpot. They don't need to be cosseted in a flowerbed; they grow up amidst the grass and laugh at the idea that other garden flowers might consider them 'common' for doing so.
They like being in groups, nodding and chattering away with one another. There's no sense of animosity, mistrust or paranoia. They are self-confident, friendly, always accepting of others. They love the wind, which makes them dance, and the sunshine, which makes them glow, and they are tough enough to stay cheerful even on the cold, grey days when winter threatens to come back again. If those trumpets could play, I bet that every tune would be a happy one, which make your feet itch to dance.
Then there's their smell. I don't think people think of daffodils as scented flowers - the kudos there always goes to the overpowering perfumes of roses, gardenias and lavender - but they do. The fragrance is clean, sharp, a little like citrus and a little like bleach. You have to lean right into the trumpet to get it, so that the petals tickle the end of your nose. It's the smell of spring, of new growth which doesn't need to be over-sweet or strong; it's too busy just enjoying being alive.
In fact, the only thing I don't like about daffodils is the Wordsworth poem; it's just too self-centred (that whole 'wandering lonely as a cloud' business, ugh, what a poser). Dorothy, on the other hand, captured the egalitarian happiness of daffodils much better. So here's to the laughing, golden daffodil - and here's to spring!
* The plural of 'narcissus' can be 'narcissus', 'narcissuses' or 'narcissi' - I just have a personal preference for the latter.
