The previous owner of our house planted lots of bulbs in the front yard. Some of them come up reliably every spring and I know where they are and can predict their blooming. Others, like the daffodils, come up in random places and at random times. They surprise me with blooms every few years, and I never know when I’ll find them. The years that we find brilliant swaths of daffodils in neighboring yards, ours don’t bloom at all. And then in the years where there is not a daffodil to be found in the neighborhood, ours surprise me by cheerfully popping up one morning.


True to its rogue nature, this single daffodil surprised me one morning. In spite of all of the spring snow storms and frozen blooms of the other bulbs, the daffodil decided that this was a good year to grace us with a bloom.

There was nothing left to do but cut it and bring it inside, where I could enjoy its sunshine beside my bed, and its fragrance with the hyacinths.