The Want of Humanity

Photo Credit: Author

Why do I feel guilty about the fresh-cut daffodils, still wet with rain from the night before, sitting on my desk?

They are beautiful, a vibrant yellow, poignantly fragrant. I cut them from a small patch along the fenceline, invisible to most passing by, seen only by me as I enter in and out of my truck. Tomorrow and the next it will frost overnight, cutting their lives short.