A Love Letter to Narcissus

Every spring, the narcissus emerges before anything else stirs from its dormant slumber. It stands alone, proud and poised to showcase its vibrant hues and gentle form.

Delicate yet bold, it is the first to bloom in my yard—an early burst of color piercing through the cold, stubborn soil left by winter. While the world still yawns awake, the narcissus stands tall, golden, and radiant, as if it knows secrets that the rest of us have yet to remember.

There’s something magnetic about it—its elegance and quiet confidence. Perhaps it’s the way it reaches for the sun long before the days feel warm enough. I find myself mirroring this action, face turned up to the sky despite the lingering chill in the air. Maybe it’s how it carries its beauty unapologetically, a lesson I am gradually learning. Or perhaps it’s the draw of things that symbolize rebirth, resilience, and the return of hope.

I admire this little bloom more than I can articulate; I feel a deep connection to it and its behavior. Like the narcissus, I too am awakening from a dark winter slumber, breaking through the hard surface, and becoming what I was always meant to be—unapologetically displaying the new colors I have earned.

It doesn’t require fanfare. It simply arrives—year after year—reminding us that even the most delicate things can exhibit the fiercest determination. It serves as a pivotal reminder that winter always ends, hard times will not last forever, and such struggles ultimately shape us into something better if we endure the harsh moments.

Spring always begins here, with the narcissus.