Barely has the snow become water to hydrate the soil, than the primrose opens. She is the colour of soft baby dreams, of clouds infused with gold and stirred with milk. In the middle is hearty tangerine, as if she blushed from the first kiss of spring. I take a moment feel the almost-silent happiness that comes from this simple flower, for in all this crazy world she has the courage to bloom so boldly.
This delicate flower survived under snow, in temperatures that would bring ice to my blood. Yet here she is, this primrose, understated with a humbleness that is so beautiful. Each petal is soft, to the touch and to the eye, a golden hue deeper than pastel and so much less than the gaudy jewelry mankind has so often been drawn to. This is the treasure of the earth, from simple seed growing always toward the sunlight, yet content in the shade of any tree.