My daffodils bloom early each year, tucked into a sheltered corner of one of my gardens. What makes them especially meaningful is that my mother and I planted most of the bulbs together — some even surviving patiently in a trench or bucket while my home was under construction. In 2025, I was “gifted” with so many bouquets that I felt called to capture a small one for myself, pouring layers of yellow and letting them overflow the canvas, just as flowers spill freely from a vase.
