The Solace of Spring

The field of daffodils by my childhood home remains fresh in my mind some twenty years later. Each spring, I scurried to the creek to see those magnificent golden flowers. With the help of a steady breeze, their heady aroma greeted me halfway along the dirt path.

Sitting by the creek bed each day after school, I listened as the melted snow of winter’s fury made its way downstream, and marveled at the flowers that had fought their way up through the barely thawed ground. Hardy and determined--nothing could suppress them; so different from my life. I never took home a single flower from that field however; my worlds could not mingle.

At the creek, I pushed aside my life and the world as I knew it. The beauty surrounding me quelled my constant fight or flight response, allowing me to let down my guard and take note of things most people wouldn’t give a second glance. Subtle details became acute in the absence of distraction. Although I didn’t know it then, it was the beginning of my writing career--developing a gift for perception out of a need for survival.

They say that hindsight is 20/20. While working on, While the Daffodils Danced, I had no idea why I was writing it, but I knew I’d been given a story to tell.  Once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I doubt it’s a coincidence that the daffodil is a symbol of hope and renewal.

Twenty years later, I’m no longer that young girl sitting at a creek bed trying to escape my life. I’ve arrived at another beautiful place, a place I’m happy to call home.