I have a solitary daffodil in bloom on the north side of the house, and one in bud in front. Usually these clumps get their greenery but do not bloom, so I am glad to see them this year. Other things are coming up, as well: tufts of columbine and bleeding heart, the little tongues of wild violet, buds on the clematis vine, tulips, iris, and day lily. Plus hydrangea, forsythia, and lilac are beginning their budding.
It will be 80 degrees, perhaps, today, and I am tempted to do lots of yard work, but I also resist pulling off all the fall leaf cover because then the big fat rabbits will find and eat it all, getting bigger and fatter. I am OK with them eating some of it, but not all.
So I plan a long walk on the trail into town to get some library books: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer, our next book-group book, and Bright-Sided by Barbara Ehrenreich, because, happy, optimistic, and joyful as I am, I am not blinded by the cheerful light, nor fooled by it, and I need a wise crone to tell it to me straight so I know I'm not crazy when my cynicism surges up.
I do need sunglasses.
Thanks to Karen Roe for the daffodil in England above, and to BerndH for the Narcissus pseudo-narcissus, a name that implies all that's making it a Cranky Doodle Day for me in the privacy of my own mind. That's why I'm going outdoors, to be in touch with reality and to let the big fat rabbits know I'm here.
"You must change your life," said Rilke. So that's what I keep doing. I worked as an actor, wrote for an encyclopedia, edited a literary magazine, shelved and retrieved materials in several libraries, walked beans, and taught college English courses. Now I write & edit as a freelancer, direct plays, blog "eight days a week," study the random, and listen to birdsong.