Whatever you want to call them, (personally, I prefer buttercups, because, duh, cups of butter, how awesome is that,) I adore them.
Their braveness in popping up during the first stretch of warmth and sun always inspires me, (some people might call it stupidity, since we always have a couple of late frosts, but I like to be optimistic and encouraging. Not that the daffodils know of my encouragement, but I'm giving it anyway.)
And since Spring is my Most Favorite Season of All, seeing the bright splashes of yellow dotting the most unexpected places makes my insides flip and flop, because buttercups, of course, are Spring's own personal Messengers. (Incidentally, Spring also enjoys eating creamy butter by the bowl full, in honor of her favorite flower. I know that's true; the fairies told me so.)
A couple of days ago, I tramped through the overgrown, (and I do mean OVERGROWN,) yard of an abandoned house, scratching my legs most abominably and getting mud on my pink silk flats, all because I knew that hidden in amongst the brambles and briers, early buttercups slip up through the still cool ground and perform their own particular form of intoxicating magic.
And there they were. Waiting for me. Lifting their sunny little heads and nodding in the breeze as if to say "we're waiting! we're here! love us!"
So I did. I loved them and picked them and brought them home.
2 comments:
i just want to know why you decided to tramp in your pink silk flats. i mean, i'm all for getting pretty because the day is pretty and you want to be picturesque, but...
no, no, no. not that. i just happened to be coming home from somewhere, in my pretty flats, and i didn't want to go barefoot and scratch up my feet.
no worries, tho. the mud washed off!
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