Looking forward to gathering a clutch of narcissi. Soon. Jonquils. Daffodils. Names as evocative as the dramatic blooms. As the fragrant perfume. Soon I will select stems rising from last autumn’s leaf rot, thus spring’s mulch, subtly arcing as a breeze whispers through ruffled petals. Perhaps a half dozen narcissi in a ball jar fresh from Rosslyn’s still chilly grounds will bring springtime inside. Soon.
Ball jars were born of and for canning, preserving the harvest’s bounty into and through autumn, winter, and spring. A lugubrious legacy, you say? Not so.
A noble mission, extending fruit and vegetable from harvest to the next season’s sowing. Gastronomic time travel. Pretty miraculous accomplishment. Again and again. And yet this understated invention might be mistaken for an antiquated artifact. An irrelevant relic destined for a basement shelf.
Instead the Ball jar affords a similarly significant symbol as spring’s first narcissi. An extension of last summer’s joy. And a promise of this summer’s joy to come.
Narcissi in Ball Jar
Stems, sharp edged, hollow,
subtly arced by breeze and bloom,
flouncy skirted sun.
What do you think?