Daffodils!

Green-yellow yellow-green

There is no situation, good or bad, that will not be improved by the presence of daffodils. Picture this: a day in February, freezing cold weather. You're out in the middle of nowhere on a long run, thinking that your fingers may simply freeze and fall from your body, and someone will find them on the road and mistake them for those revolting pale pink cocktail sausages. But then you glimpse a pool of colour, brighter than anything else in your view. Daffodils in someone's garden. It's impossible to not look directly at them.

Daffodils don't care about the wind or the grey skies or the darkness. They're just congregating and dancing happily, with their affectionately wide noses and open faces of sunshine. And the colours! The happiest end of the spectrum: that special time when their faces are still closed but the inner yellow is so bright that it shines through. The moment of green-yellow, which quickly transitions into yellow-green. The colour of life and joy, merged together. In February!

Daffodils don't care about mundane matters such as a linear concept of time. They don't obey humanoid rules. I've waited ten months to see these beauties again, and as soon as February arrives and I can fill my house with daffodils, they'll sit in my kitchen for a few days in their groovy green-yellow state of calm. And I'll go upstairs and take a shower, or pop out to buy milk; a small, quick activity, and when I get back - BOOM! - one of them is suddenly out and fully developed, with its yellow nose in the air. I think it happens instantly, and if I weren't so caught up with the banal tasks of my own life, I'd catch the magic moment of instant and glorious explosion into its sunshine state.