Last week, for the first time in my life, I saw daffodils in people’s yards. The area I live in is too hot for them so I’ve never seen them other than as potted plants.When I saw them growing wild, daffodils became one of my favorite flowers.
A few days after I fell in love with daffodils, a friend sent me an essay about a hillside of daffodils blooming in a glorious pattern of colors. The plot had been planted over the course of thirty-five years, one bulb at a time. The moral of the essay is any plan can be accomplished if it’s taken one step at a time. Like several of my friends, I’ve been in a writing slump. The fog is starting to lift. I know the pattern of the story tucked in my brain. I’m not going to let the enormity of what I want to accomplish, the pressure of other stories that need to be finished or edited stop this story. Every day, I’m writing one word at a time, one paragraph, one scene of this story that makes me smile whenever I think about it.
Some day I’ll have more than just the single thoughts, but an entire book to smile at.
But for now, I’m happy to smile at one daffodil at a time.
