Out with the old and in with the new.
The snowdrops are all wilting away, exhausted by their months of bloom in wind, rain and snow, snow, snow. Their pretty white dresses now look like tennis whites after Wimbledon, tired, faded and just a bit torn.
They look sad beside their neighbours, all loud and brash and 'me, me' me!'.
Shockingly bright, searingly yellow. You can't ignore these daffodil girls. They wear their golden dresses like Flamenco dancers, all ruffles and pride and swishing about grabbing all the attention.
They are the loud and proud, not quiet and demure like their snowdrop friends, whose quiet strength and fortitude holds just a touch of the Jane Austen in high waisted white dresses with muddy edges from a walk in the woods (searching for Mr Darcy perhaps). No, these daffodil girls scream, shriek and laugh aloud. They drink up the sunshine like intoxicating cocktails and hang about in groups outside nightclubs and care not a jot for the weather and cold. They are out for fun and want you to know it.
They are strumpets with trumpets, heralding the spring!