Spring

Its is now officially Spring in my book. I don't go by the calendar or what the wacky weather is doing, I consider it spring when I see these...

There they were today in a neighborhood I ran through; not many, but enough to make a decent bunch of spring cheer.
They made me think of one of my favorite poems, that at one point in my life, I had completely memorized. Since my feet felt like blocks of cement and my breathing was akin to the day that I tried to watch the end of Nicolas Spark's, "Nights in Rodanthe," while running on the treadmill (sobbing and running don't mix well), I tried to recite it in my head as a means of distraction. But as Wordsworth's words tumbled through my mind in incomplete phrases, I could only come up with the last stanza-

For oft when upon 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.

And so I trudged on.

How could I not, with  sprightly heads that bobbed ever so slightly in the breeze, cheering me on in their own jocund way?
I had to;

 its finally Spring!

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

by William Wordsworth

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.