For my weekly writing spot on this site, see the One-Minute Mystic, with a new meditation posted every Monday. Also see The Village, the story of Misty Longings, England's most beautiful village, posted episode by episode earlier this year.       "So what will it be, madam? A Trumpet, Split Corona, King Alfred or a Poeticus?" Daffodils: they risk late frosts and even snow, to announce winter done, and spring eager. They allow the snowdrop its pure white glory; and after, will come the wondrous bluebell sea. But between drop and bell, daffs make the land a swaying bloom of sweet and lush yellow. Wordsworth's heart "danced with daffodils"; his heart was not alone. It's not always idyllic and wonderful. A daffodil on the news today, will probably herald a cancer story. It is the symbol of Madame Curie Cancer Care – who are soon to plant 500 daffodils in a Field of Hope outside Fowey in Cornwall, as they did in Newquay, as part of a cancer awareness campaign. And it's not always British. The Daffodil Festival is 75 years old this year, and as American as the little house on the prairie. It started in Pierce County, Washington, in 1934, but daffodils had first arrived there back in 1925. The fields of yellow flowers were such a fine sight, there used to be a "Bulb Sunday" when people came to admire. But it was killed by its own success – too many automobiles caused too much congestion, so "Bulb Sunday" died. The festival has blossomed, however, run by a group appropriately called "The Daffodilians." And it's not all sweetness and light. In fact, there's a bit of a battle in the daffodil world at present. On one side are the "modernisers", who want to move on with the new hybrids, and see the daffodil bigger and better by the year; on the other, the "historics", who defend the older varieties; not generally great beauties, but possessing the dogged virtue of age. The "historics" look snootily at the modernisers; the modernisers look frustratedly at the historics. As Clay Higgins put it: "Don't get me wrong: I have great respect for some older varieties that were cornerstones in the development of the modern daffodil...but just because they are old, doesn't mean they are worthy." Well, that's telling the historics! It's not always straightforward, either. The name "daffodil" is derived from the older affodell. The reason for the introduction of the initial "d" is not known, although a probable source is an etymological merging from the Dutch article de as in de affodell. But enough of such pedantry! A rose by any other name and all that; and if a daffodil sits on your table now; or laughs in the wind as you walk in the park – then etymology will not be a pressing concern. It wasn't for Wordsworth: When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze... Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. More writings © Simon Parke