zana16

It's spring, and spring is always bittersweet for me. It takes me a while to remember, sometimes, that spring is about death as much as it is about life; cherry blossoms and daffodils and green green grass fill me with such unhesitating joy after the dark of winter (seasonal affective disorder R Us) that I forget how fleeting it is.

Dacey asked for daffodils. He'd offered her anything she wanted, but she asked for daffodils. Elijah couldn't understand. "But they'll die," he said. And she wouldn't ask for anything else, didn't want any strings--as if saving someone's life isn't the biggest string possible--so he gave her daffodils every week, even when he had to have them flown in specially from the islands, in an effort to prove that his love was not as fleeting as the flowers she'd asked for.

It's warm out and there are flowers and I've been loving it so much, and just today I remembered that for all spring is a celebration of life, spring doesn't stay. And sure, we wouldn't appreciate the beauty if it were all around us all the time, but I still have trouble living in the now and enjoying what is. And I know it's a cycle, but I get caught in the death part... spring always takes me by surprise, and every year I don't quite believe in it until it's already over, and things are getting ready to die again.

Daffodils are my favorite flowers. They're just so ridiculous and lovely and happy and spring-y. And they're never here long enough for me to believe that they'll last... love and life and spring.