My daffodil patch ...

I should preface this post with a confession: For the past few months, our backyard has been a bit of a mess. More like a lot of a mess. And I have done absolutely nothing to remedy this. The snow melted. The grass grew. The weeds grew. And I merely looked out the window. And then a patch of something else started growing, too. Something that looked like daffodil leaves. So I watched and I waited. And sure enough, three days ago, I noticed the first daffodil blooms. Vindicated (not everyone believed me when I had previously proclaimed the greenery to be daffodils in waiting), I cut some and put them in a vase, with lofty plans to repeat the process every day. Except that yesterday someone came to mow the lawn. And he mowed the flowers. The flowers that no longer looked like weeds. The leaves and stems with yellow blooms.

True, I did not plan, or plant, that daffodil patch. I never did anything at all except watch and wait. Those flowers just sprouted in the middle of the lawn, without any help. But if given the choice between a pathetic patch of grass and a patch of daffodils, I choose the daffodils. Except maybe sometimes I do not. Maybe sometimes I just go right ahead and mow down those daffodils that sprouted in the middle of the lawn without any rhyme or reason or plan at all. Maybe sometimes I had a different plan for that patch of grass. Maybe I had a better plan. I do like plans, you know. But maybe I like daffodils more ...