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've been an encyclopedia editor, a poetry editor, an actor and director, a library clerk, and an assistant professor of English. Now I'm a freelancer, work part time in a library, blog "eight days a week," study the random, tend perennials, and listen to birdsong.