Birds cautiously whistle their first few notes, as if they are fearing they might scare the sun away. The first flower buds have peaked out their heads to carefully observe their surroundings, waiting for the right time to fully emerge and blossom into the beautiful flowers they have always wanted to be.
But there is always that one flower, that one pioneer, who is misled by the first deceitful signs of spring. Bravely it breaks free from the ground that has kept it warm and safe over the past months, hoping to finally feel that sweet sunlight on its freshly erupted petals. The other flowers watch anxiously as our brave little daffodil opens up into the fresh air of spring. He thinks he has made it. As the soothing feeling of photosynthesis rushes through his dainty little flowerbody, he is overwhelmed with relief. It’s here, he thinks, spring is finally here.
He should’ve known better, the other flowers think as they find him the next morning. His bright yellow colour has faded and his leaves, that once rose so proudly to the blue sky, have dropped unto the surface of the cold, frozen ground. As I cycle past the miserable pile of soon-to-be-compost, I sympathize with the little flower. I too hoped that winter had passed, but alas, it was only a dream.