This happy little daffodil (the name of which some may find objection at, but as long as they’re bright and lightly-scented, I don’t care what you call them) was part of a bouquet of blooms I picked up a couple of weeks ago. We’re just starting to see their outside cousins rise up from the chilly ground. I’m still hesitant to give everything over to spring just yet (too great a chance for a snowstorm) and part of me has halted any celebratory sigh of relief, especially when I think back to last year’s banner crop of lilac blooms that was instantly decimated by a late-season freeze. Mother Nature is to be honored, but never trusted. Unless you’re placing trust in fickleness and unpredictability.

Tom Ford did a few floral scents in his Jardin series, inspired by these spring blooms, none of which was very impressive. While some flowers lend themselves to lasting scents (jasmine, tuberose, gardenia) these early bloomers don’t give it up as easily. His jonquil and hyacinth attempts did not connect for me – spring is about something lighter, and Ford’s private Blends (with the possible exception of the summer-based Portofino collection) have too much oomph and headiness to translate the delicacy of the spring bulbs.

For me, the only way to smell these properly is to take an early season stroll and feel the soft dampness of a spring earth beneath your feet. The air should be almost as wet as the ground, and as you approach a swath of narcissus, you will smell their delicate sweetness. You should get your knees wet as you kneel beside their fragrant beauty, and it will always be worth it. Forever after, that memory will be conjured –in every passing grocery market bucket, in every fancy hotel lobby that serves up seasonal blooms, you will be brought back to the happiest time of the year when you sniff them again: spring.

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