A Daffodil of One's Own

The hunt is on! Where were they planted? Here, there? Down the hill, past the yellow tree, next to the fence by the smallest tree? But which smallest tree? Which fence? It's not as though you have a nice row with a stake holding up a seed packet!

Thank goodness we put a chopstick next to some of them, but the wood chipper has been here. Could this be one of ours? And there it is--barely sticking up, bitten and short, but with 'volunteer' clearly etched in ballpoint.

Can you believe it? How beautiful is our very own daffodil. I know lucky Wordsworth saw ten thousand at a glance but I can't think of anything more happy-making than a single, tall, slightly eaten daffodil of one's own.