The first jonquil to bloom is traditionally a bashful one. Shy and hesitant, it doesn’t fully unfurl its petals right away, usually holding one of two back, keeping themselves close, similar to the way some humans cross their arms. Much of my life has been spent like this first daffodil – cautious, careful, slightly cunning. Especially at the beginning of things, when nothing is sure, nothing is sacred, nothing is certain. Safety first – safety for surety, safety for survival. There could still very easily be snow, and storms have been blowing up out of nowhere, terrifyingly fast – too fast for a little jonquil to close up its petals before they might be ravaged.
But think of all the sun it misses by playing it safe, think of the shadows it casts on itself before letting go, how much wasted time, how much wasted light. The lovely warmth of a spring day is there for the taking, for the loving, even if storms come later, even if the petals are torn, even if it’s not perfect.
There is a noble grace that comes from living for the day.
