It's been a dark and stormy night. (The "typo of the year" contest is now closed; just tried to make it "a darn" one.)
It's going to keep storming all day, to judge from the dull skies and the over-excited forecasters. Rain, rain has no particular interest in going away, it seems.
Meanwhile, in the front yard of my apartment building stands a group of small, green leaves.
Through several damp days this week, the leaves got greener and greener.
Then, yesterday, I spotted the result. One daffodil has bloomed.
I know, it's not May yet, of "April showers bring May flowers" fame -- but I'm feeling a bit protective of this little soloist.
It's early, but it's a great morale booster. I think I might even enjoy this one on its own better than Wordsworth's "a crowd, a host of golden daffodils" -- which tend to irritate my nose.
So hang on, dear readers. Like the little daffodil in my yard versus the storms all around us, things just aren't in proportion right now.
But as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle put it in "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty,"
"We have much to hope from the flowers."
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