This is the time of year which I like to call the season of "Yellow." Oh yes . . . I do know that it is Spring . . . but for me it is also the season of yellow . . .
Everywhere you look forsythia is in brilliant bloom. I saw a hedge which was largely composed of forsythia yesterday on our way home from church. It was most beautiful. I think I want to plant a forsythia bush in the garden, so cheerful and brilliantly yellow in the early Spring . . .
Then too the grass verges are beginning to be covered with the early golden glow of dandelion heads. The leaves are said to resemble the teeth of the lion . . . or the "Dente de Lion" . . . hence the name dandelion. I know they are considered to be a weed, but they are beautiful to me, even when they get to the seed stage and you make wishes by blowing the seeds away . . . what mother has not received a pretty bouquet of dandelions??? They are a treasure to me . . .
Source: google.com via Caronda on Pinterest
The fields of rape are blooming at the moment, filling the rural countryside with great swathes and sheets of gold, adding colour to the brilliantly green patchwork that is Britain from the sky . . . pleasing to my eyes . . . although I know those who suffer from pollen allergies do not see it so, and I am sorry for their discomfort, but it cannot help but bring a smile to my soul . . .
Source: Uploaded by user via Takashi on Pinterest
And everywhere you look, the grass verges, garden beds, fields are filled with the golden heads of the daffodil . . . it won't be long now before they, too, are spent . . . but for now I find great pleasure in their bobbing heads doing a Springtime dance . . .
It is said that great things hang upon small chances. If the wind had been blowing so violently in the woods above Gowbarrow Park on a particular Thursday afternoon in April at the beginning of the last century, the daffodils by the lake would not have been swaying about so wildly and it is entirely possible that one of the loveliest poems of the English Language would never have been penned . . .
Source: google.com via Kriss on Pinterest
Had he been alone, Wordsworth would probably have wandered by in a dreamy abstraction of thought and missed the moment, but luck would have it that his sister was with him, and no beauty . . . however fleeting . . . every escaped the quick eyes of Dorothy, his sister who walked with him. It was Dorothy who made those daffodils dance for William . . . and it was William who made them dance for the world.
Over 150 years has passed since the writing of that beautiful poem, but it's magic still weaves it's way into the heart as it evokes that beautiful April scene by the windy lake . . . dancing Ullswater Daffodils . . . dancing their Springtime dance . . . in the season of . . . yellow . . .
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;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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