10 thoughts on “Variety

  1. Beautiful!!! I visited an old Alaska friend on Sunday, Sharon Chittick, as she unpacked the wonderful painting you did for a Stonington show long ago. Her twin sister bought it for her, and she treasures it !                   ~Jane

  2. You have beautifully captured the daffodil’s exuberance, and it does appear just when we really need it! I love those creamy ones with the peachy centers — I think they are called “pheasant’s eye”? Or pigeon’s eye? Anyway, they are terrific. Here in NYC daffodils naturalize as they don’t quite manage in AK, but now that summers are getting longer and winters less deep, perhaps they will there, too. I had some miniature ones that came up year after year, but did not spread.
    Now our daffodils and the magnificent magnolias are past, but the redbud and the dogwood trees are delightful, and the cherries are soon to be at their peak. Spring is so very “bloomy” here!

  3. I love this variety. I haven’t planted new daffies for years, so the bright yellow ones have begun to take over. I miss the touches of white and orange and peachy colors I used to have. Daffodils are so incredibly hardy and so very cheerful, and a perfect subject for your pen and paint.

    • I think your hardy ones are what Wordsworth is talking about in his poem – included in Susan’s comment – or at least the earlier, wild variety. Can’t imagine seeing a whole field full – would be wonderful!

  4. so lovely and lively….

    Do you remember this 19th century poem? The rhymes are old fashioned but the sentiments remain true to my heart and your water color.

    I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

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