Month: February 2026

The Brave Ones

Janet Fisher2 Comments

Delicate. Exquisite. Brilliant in yellow. The daffodils of late winter brave every kind of weather. Pounding rain. Skiffs of snow like this morning’s chill. Sometimes they wait. They seem like long-term weather forecasters, setting expectations by the date of their appearance. Will spring be early this year? Or late? But whenever they come out they give me hope. It’s why I call them the hope flower. They let me know. Early or late, spring is coming. It always does.

It’s a little bit like being an author. The delicate lines across many pages. The bravery of putting words out there. The battering critique. The wait. The joy of acceptance.

Followers of my blog know I get a little daffy every year when the daffodils start to rise. I’ve been watching this bloom for quite a while. The swelling bud. Another bud started sooner but something nipped it off before it had a chance to open. And this one dared spread its petals first. Weighted down by drops of rain it bows still. One day soon it should lift its head and glow.

Progress on my work continues. I finished the outline for my next book today. That’s the frame from which the story will flow. It’s the sequel to the one my new agent has ready. Exciting times. Hope rises like daffodils announcing spring.

When Clouds Speak

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Clouds have something to say, even when I do not know their meaning. On returning from my walk yesterday I looked up and saw this.

I marveled at the pattern and wondered what the clouds had to tell me. But forgot them in the afternoon’s work of building a new story of ancient Ireland. And dinner. And conversation. And a movie.

Around ten o’clock I looked out the window and saw a mysterious pattern of clouds still spread across the sky, lit then by the rising moon. I turned out the house lights to see them better. Then knew I must go outside for the full effect.

And saw this.

The magic of it! I stood silent. Let the glory enclose me. In an opening off to my right a star twinkled. A star! When I had immersed myself in the wonder of the eastern sky I turned and strode west and found more stars peeking out from those extraordinary clouds that reached all the way to the western horizon. Every horizon. A full crown. Then back to the rising moon in the east that lightened the entire sky.

I contemplated a photo. Surely it could not grasp this. No, but it offers a glimpse.

Clouds do speak, surely. What do they say? Scientists probably have a name for this. The ancient people of my stories would have accepted the reality. Of Magic.