I vividly remember that little, solitary Daffodil plant standing daintily under a leafless winter tree. The irony is, you remember those frames most distinctly, that you terribly regret not clicking and converting into a photograph.
It was a particularly cold day in early February last year. Coronavirus was still just something that happened in China, but I was not in the best of spirits. I had my own gloominess before it got blended with the whole world’s. I was cheerlessly making rounds of the periphery of the community garden. The garden was like any garden is at the peak of the winter – empty and barren. The trees were all brown and the sky, grey and cloudy. The world outside was perfectly reflecting the one inside me.
I was walking past all the lifeless nature in the garden when suddenly, at a distance, few steps inside the garden’s edge, I saw a tiny spot of dazzling yellow. Tucked away in an inconspicuous place, obscured by the dry twigs of a shrub, I had missed it for quite a few rounds. A Daffodil!
That little fellow was way too early to bloom and absolutely unexpected at that. I went near to make sure it was for real. It was, complete with two of those blade-shaped, long, tender leaves surrounding it. It felt as if it smiled at me – with somewhat of pride about its shenanigan of venturing up so early in the winter and becoming practically the first-ever flower of the year in that whole garden. I had to smile back. It was impossible to remain weak in front of such a brave act.
That moment carried a quiet, pure joy, like few others. That flower was the desperately needed sunshine for the duskiness in my heart. Well, I had my phone with me, I should have clicked a nice picture of that very important flower. But then, some encounters are so profound, taking out a camera is not the first thought that occurs. In this case, it never did. I made few extra rounds, just to walk past it, again and again, just to have a precious glance at that small, but a grand glimpse of life, and hope.
Daffodils are among the first flowers to bloom in the spring, I wonder, what or who must be spreading the rumors of their arrivals in the bees? Inspired by that thought, this month I have created an art/surface pattern called –Daffodil Rumors! :)
Article ©2021 Gyaneshwari Dave
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