No 9 - "YELLO' MR BLUE SKY!"

"Yello' Mr Blue Sky!"

"Yello' Mr Blue Sky!"

No 9 “Yello’ Mr Blue Sky!”

Oh, my goodness! It’s almost here! I can feel it! And how my heart, spirit, and energy lift at the slightest peek of sunshine that lights the world when I wake. The simple joy of not having to grope around in the dark like a mole just to find clean socks and make that first all-important cup of coffee of the day is marvellous. I am of course talking about SPRING! Even the word, I think, has a glorious onomatopoeic quality that certainly makes me a little zingier, gives me a little more get up and go, puts a spring in my step!

(I should in the spirit of full disclosure admit that spring is not actually my favouritist season, that would be autumn/fall. I love nothing more than dark nights, thick socks, warm baths, hot soup, custard laden puddings, fallen leaves, real fires, curling up with good books and bracing walks where the wind smacks you in the face and the feel of a hot cup of tea in your palms when you step back inside is the best. But hey, I don’t think spring will be reading this, so we are all good!)

My lucky, lucky, lucky life. Because I wake to birdsong and routine.

And there is nothing in my view that heralds the glorious arrival of the new season more than the preponderance of daffodils that claw their way up through the soil against all the odds. Railing against the hard frost of winter. Fighting to stand proudly and defiantly, dancing sentinels that draw attention to themselves when all around them is the colour of mud. Here in the UK, they are clustered on every verge, grouped on highways, and essentially poke their glorious sunshine-coloured bonnets from anywhere there is soil - adding splashes of yellow to the dreariest of places. Nature is literally punching holes in the gloom and saying, “Look! Remember that beautiful and delicate things still exist in this world gone crazy!” not only are they a reminder to look for such things among the darkness or the decay, but they are also a lesson in resilience. Daffodils are hardy little blighters. Even while hidden, growing anew, out of sight, regenerating, they are working hard, lurking, biding their time, and how hopeful it is to be reminded that everything is on a cycle and this time of flux will pass. Everything does.

We were once posted to an army quarter that was… how shall I describe it… bloody grim. A tiny, leaking box of a house that encouraged any impending joy to flee the moment you stepped over the threshold. We were there for eighteen months and before I left, I stuffed the perimeter of the tiny garden with daffodil bulbs, ramming them by the fence and around the spiky bushes and along the narrow, slimy path. I figured that the following year, a woman like me would stand at the sink in the kitchen and I wanted her heart to lift at the sight of the abundance of yellow that would brighten her world for as long as they bloomed. It still gladdens my heart to think of this. My gift to her – one woman to another.

Yes, daffodils you things of beauty. You glorious symbols of St David’s Day, you the flower chosen to ‘flash’ upon Wordsworth’s ‘inward eye’ – what joy you bring! Is there anything more beautiful than to see them standing proud, the yellow, bright and beautiful against the perfect blue of a cloudless sky.

Yes, daffodils, keep doing what you do.

I stand with you yellow and blue.

Woman to woman.

Mother to mother.

And I would say again, how hopeful it is to be reminded that everything is on a cycle and this time of flux will pass. Everything does.

For more information on Amanda Prowse and to buy her books - please head to www.amandaprowse.com follow her on all socials at @mrsamandaprowse Thank you X