the same but different

miniature, multiflowered daffodil

March has been an odd month and although I did just remember to mention St David’s Day and the start of spring here on the blog, I was a bit late with both of them.

Today, of course, is Mother’s Day, and to tell the truth, I’ve been late with that, too. Sadly, even the fact that the clocks changed last night and we lost an hour hardly provides me with an excuse for failing to get a card posted to arrive in time at my mother’s house.

I usually do try to write about the different high days and holidays on the blog, but I’ve been writing here for over ten years and it’s hard to find something original to say about days that come round year after year after year. After all, one spring equinox is pretty much like another and there are seldom new myths and miracles to be added to a Saint’s repertoire just because the earth has circled the sun once more.

Thinking about things like anniversaries, that are both the same and different, I went for a brief walk this evening, as the sun was going down. As I said, it’s been an odd month, with missed deadlines and project meetings postponed, and I’ve been frantically trying to keep things moving and on track. In the park, though, spring doesn’t seem to have had such delays: she has been very busy, the trees are all in blossom and the flowers are all far ahead of themselves.

All these photos were taken within a stone’s throw of my front door. All of them are recognisably daffodils, but they really couldn’t be more dissimilar.

Perhaps if I started paying more attention and stopped running in circles, the days would stop being such a blur and I’d actually notice what’s happening. Then, perhaps, I’d find something new to say about familiar dates and days and other things.

miniature, multi-flowered daffodil


White daffodils

pale yellow daffodil

white daffodil with small yellow trumpet

fasciated daffodil

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

One thought on “the same but different”

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