Daffodils

Spring was heralding its arrival with a fanfare of daffodils. As she drove to work, she couldn't help but think about their giddy waving at the side of the road, like an eager crowd, and their sunniness invaded her heart.

Seeing them had lifted her mood.

Wordsworth got it spot on, she thought to herself. What an apt name for such an accomplished poet. Good job he wasn't named after the place he was born. He wouldn't have had nearly the same success.

It was funny how small things lifted you. Just this morning, she had been feeling a little low. Richard had already left for work, so the house had been quiet. Being left to her own thoughts did not always lead her to whimsy. Sometimes, if she just had her head as her companion, it would insist on leading her down dark alleys. She had to be really determined to see the brightness in life, make a conscious effort to see the lighter side of things.

Richard was a rock. They had had a difficult year. First, him losing his job. Secondly, his mother's diagnosis. Thirdly, the miscarriages.

That was a dark alley she was not going to go down. She knew its trappings, its desire to keep her, its dark tendrils invidious and hard to repel.

But Richard kept going through it all. Doggedly. He'd found a new job, he'd found carers for his mother and he remained optimistic about having a baby, despite all signs to the contrary.

"It will happen for us, Bea, I just know it will," he'd reassure her when once again the bleeding started.

He never told her to relax, or anything trite. He just held her while she wept. She had heard him crying once, privately and it had rocked her world. Rocks don't weep but despite the fissure it suggested, she cemented it with her love. They were strong together.

The daffodils were in her head all day, with their gladness and uninhibited joy.

If she got pregnant, she thought, she would call their daughter "Daffodil" in their honour.

Ten months later, holding their little girl, Richard suggested "Joy" instead, which she agreed was more sensible.

***

366 words

I wouldn't be a true Welsh woman if I didn't write about daffodils on St. David's Day, our patron saint. We have a couple of national emblems, leeks being the other one (and who could forget the association with dragons) but I felt like daffodils lent themselves to a story more easily!

I'm not going to tell you where Wordsworth was born - you can Google that nugget for yourself.

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

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