And yet, it’s been warm enough that these pretty daffodils bloomed. I don’t even remember planting them — they must have been in the batch I bought from one of Nina’s kids as a fundraising thing. At any rate, I was silly enough to plant them right under the dripline from the porch, so they got kind of battered, poor things.
I’m always torn about picking flowers from the garden — where will I enjoy them more? Outside? or inside? But since these had broken stems from the water coming off the roof, the decision was easy. Into the vase they go, and there they sit on the windowsill above the sink where, like the voracious spring birds draining my feeder, they make me happy while I wash my dishes.
Looks like spring’s coming despite the best efforts of winter to hang on.