It’s still too cold and wet out there to attempt any kind of cleanup on the ground. Yet, I feel the urge to smell the earth, however cold, as I can scent it on the fur of my cat when he returns from a forage outside.
It’s a basic instinct. The person needs to grow food otherwise they cannot survive. And the daffodil needs to grow so it can survive. Though we have evolved together with the seasons, yet we deny ourselves the most basic needs. Despite our predeliction for work, we force ourselves to stay dormant yet another month or week as the weather warms.
This feeling inside is like a bulb. Fat, roots reaching down past the frostline, small green pipeline beginning in the center, the heart. It can only reach so far. Cold and snow aren’t its thing. It waits until the time is right.
When the perfect conditions occur, it bursts through the soil, joining early risers like beetles and the more hardy worms as they respond to the changing air. In the same way, my feelings, my creativity, my needs are submitted to the world. Growing, growing, until they can no longer be contained by the confines of my physical body. My soul, my inner daffodil suddenly appears and joyously sings.