Damp Daffodil Day

Spring is a tad backward this year, because of our recent strong-fingered and persistent winter.

At 3AM last night, when I went outside to look to see if the lunar eclipse might be seen, the reward for a middle-of-the-night rising was not  a rust-red sanguinary and diffuse moon, but soft, sweet, salty spring nighttime air, laden with smells of thaw and awakening life.

A few hours later, with the arrival of light, I went to the yard edges to admire the first daffodils of this spring season.

I saluted the one of my beloved patches of messy, old-fashioned double daffodils. This variety, and others like it, have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years. Old Martha’s Vineyard houses often have clumps of these everywhere.

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Last night was warm and damp.

Fog and showers had covered everything with droplets.

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Surface tension pulls the droplets into spheroids.

The droplets act as lenses, magnifying the areas underneath them.

 

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Focus: near and far.

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Focus: far and near.

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Bud sheaths have done their duty, have protected the flower bud, and now have split, have been pushed aside.

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Now the sheaths are dried, are crinkly tans and browns.

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They contrast so sharply with the flowers, which are bursting with water, color, fragrance, and light.

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