A Host, of golden Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

that floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

a host, of golden daffodils;

Beneath the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

(W. Wordsworth)

Along our country road the ditches are adrift with daffodils.  They  are volunteers.  No one plants these spring bulbs.    It’s just a kind of magic that is spring.  They spread sunshine along the road on the gloomiest day.  And, I love the way they pop up in the most unlikely places.    They are the favorite spring flower of a dear friend who is waiting for spring to come to their lakeside home  in the Muskoka.   So these pictures are for her, and all who would like to say goodbye to snow and hello spring.


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