Nothing says springtime more than golden daffodils. Up by the privet hedge in our back garden (American: yard) we once planted several daffodil bulbs. Years later this is the show we have come to expect in late March . They have burst forth, trumpeting the turning of seasons. Though winter may still have a few cold blasts up its sleeve, the worst of it is gone and ahead we can almost sniff the sweet warm aromas of summertime.
The history of daffodils is very long. Some say that the occupying Romans first brought them to The British Isles almost two thousand years ago but evidence for this is flimsy. Others speak of "wild" daffodils as if they are native flowers
Our little patch of daffodils stirred from sleep as January passed the baton to February - sending up probing green fingers to test the air. They were far too early so had to bide their time till mid-March.
Of course, William Wordsworth wrote a famous poem called "Daffodils" in 1804 and I blogged about it back in March 2009. I also notice that back in 2017 I wrote my own poem about daffodils. Go here. It was five years ago and though I say it myself I remain pretty pleased with those fourteen lines.