Our daffodils blossomed today: yellow flowers searching for summer.
Standing in our front yard, posing as a person stretching before a run, I watched them from the corner of my eye.
I reached for my toes, held my breath, and turned myself to stone. And that’s when I saw the flowers turn (slow and mechanical). You could hear the gears engaging. There was no breeze to explain their movement; no way I was not seeing what I imagined.
I had been watching them for weeks. At first, they camouflaged as grass, but their color and size exposed them: islands of emerald shoots in a sea of dormant grass. They spun cocoons dangling with the promise of yellow petals. All the while, I pictured tiny hibernating creatures wearing yellow hardhats, thick-soled boots, and insulated coveralls – their headlamps dancing as they worked deep beneath the frozen ground.
They had been busy. There were shoots to tend, stems to periscope, and blossoms to metamorphose. Now, they were searching for signs of summer. They pushed pedals, turned wheels, and pulled ropes: telescoping coronas to watch for Osprey, directing petals to listen for bees, and charting data to determine when it would be safe to surface from their winter burrows.
In a world swirling with magic, if you stand still long enough, you can see whatever you imagine.
Peace,
Chris