Last year, around this time, I had daffodils blooming in the garden – then, it got very cold and snowed – and I knit some small scarves and wrapped them around those chilly flowers.
This year – it snowed. But my daffs are still tightly furled.
This flower came in a bouquet from a store, tightly furled as well, but it began to open in the kitchen and the wool is for whimsy not warmth.
A length of bamboo makes a sleek holder for ivy and a rescued birch branch that broke off in a windstorm. It reminds me, in its doorway setting, of simple columns at the entrances of temples.
A few more rescued branches from the street piles of prunings waiting on the city pickup responded to the warmth above the stove and opened into bloom, into leaves.
Flowers and vegetables in the garden seem friendly companions and the sight of the daffodil in a vase of yarn made me think that equally friendly companions would be unusual knitting needles chumming up to that daff's siblings.