Week 10: Daffodil Fever.

Dear Daffodils,

Yellow pedals coating hillsides, roaming between trees, freckling paths. The prettiest weed I’ve yet to know. Monday was the first day of Spring. Somehow you knew, because suddenly, you’re everywhere.


Tuesday, it snowed. It poured. It hailed and pelted and fell upon us. No longer yellow amongst green, but yellow amidst white. And I wonder if I should say my goodbyes. My friend and I, we pluck you, sure you’ve already been choked cold. Stacked underneath my books in my room, I will keep you. Remember you sprouting too soon. Too eager to brace the warmth that fades before I take off my coat.

I have just about a week left of classes. A paper to fix up, 2300 words to write, and an exam to prep for—yet I can’t bring myself to write one more word. Not unless it’s about how I’ve come to quite fancy you. I walk about uni and see baby bunnies dancing between bushes, birds playing the game of mating season. In two weeks’ time, I will be on a plane to Dublin. You’re smell is in the air. And I’m only human, I have to breathe you in.

Yesterday I did a crazy thing. Thursday and Friday I was in the gym, ripping apart my muscles with the CrossFit workouts I’ve grown to adore. My body has been thanking me by reminding me with every step I take. Yesterday, I repaid in kind by ignoring the wincing ache. My friend and I thought we’d enjoy the weather by running up Dumyat in our backyard. We thought sweat dripping between gasps for oxygen as our muscles screamed could be good fun.

‘Did you guys run all the way up here?’

I laugh, jumping down from the stone pile marking the top.

We tell them no.

‘You could’ve said yes. We would’ve believed you.’


What a cute thought. Having made it to the top without stopping 5 or 6, or maybe 11 or so times. Every new slope we came to I hated more than the one before. My thighs tightened, protesting each step, smaller than the last. 45 minutes up trying to forget the minute just passed.


Standing though, on top of the pile of stones, placing my own at its peak, I smiled in triumph. In a moment, the snow of Tuesday was gone, the ache in my muscles forgotten, leaving fields dotted with you. Running up Dumyat was awful. But I’d recommend it in a heartbeat. And I will be sure to do it again.


I’m not one to steal, but your beauty is intoxicating and I couldn’t help myself.  My flatmate and I picked 9 of you, tied you in a bundle, sat you in an empty spice jar. It’s been two days, and though detached from the vine, you’re still standing firm. Though displaced on a windowsill in our kitchen, you glow.


Please forgive me. Although you do look pretty in the sunlight as I sip my morning tea. I’ll enjoy your beauty a moment longer. It’s Spring and I’m in Scotland where wild flowers are buttercups that withstand even the snow. I think you’re my new favorite flower.

Love Always,



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