Someone remarked to me the other day that the daffodils are particularly splendid this year.
One of my abiding memories of daffodils is from the time when I regularly preached at the Holy Week services in Croftfoot Parish Church. I was making my way there when I had to stop at the traffic lights close to the Victorian Infirmary. Among the people waiting to cross was a young man holding the hand of a wee girl who must have been about four years of age. She had a mass of brown curls and her free hand was holding a huge bunch of blazing yellow daffodils. I wondered who would be getting them. Mum? Granny? An artist friend of mine once told me that yellow is a ‘brave’ colour. Even now I find myself hoping that this gift made a difference.
