Dad remarked that daffodils in the front yard had never looked so robust or so yellow. He was pleased. They reminded him of his late wife, my beloved step mom, who had died from cancer in late December. She loved daffodils.
As do, apparently, many others, because I had lost count of people walking by and stopping to admire them, even take a picture or two.
We were on our way to the Oregon Convention Center to get Dad his second vaccine shot. As we passed the clump of daffodils in my car, Dad asked me if could recite a poem about the flower. Of course. This would be much better than the radio. For one thing, no commercials.
He then recited Wordsworth’s “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” as we drove along. He didn’t miss a single line.
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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.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
We talked about the poem and the beauty of flowers and what they can do for a depressed soul as we made our way through so much urban ugliness, desperation and exhaustion.
But here and there among the homeless encampments and various solo tents we passed a wild flower and some even cultivated in pots among the encampments and tents. That sight brought me pleasure.