There is something about the abundance of yellow, scattered across parks, roadsides, and gardens, that fills me with an immediate sense of joy. It’s more than just a seasonal change — it’s deeply personal. My name, Cerus, reflects my Welsh heritage on my mum’s side, and with the daffodil being the national flower of Wales, these blooms feel like a quiet connection to who I am and where I come from.

Whenever I travel back to North Wales or hear a North Wales accent, I feel an undeniable sense of belonging. It’s hard to explain, but it’s comforting — like being wrapped in something familiar. I could listen to that accent for hours. It brings me back to something rooted and meaningful, much like the daffodils themselves.

Some of my fondest memories are tied to these flowers. When I bought my first flat, like most people stepping onto the property ladder, there was very little money left for anything extra. But I created small moments of joy where I could.

I remember walking up to Leighton Buzzard High Street on market day and buying a couple of bunches of daffodils. They were simple, affordable, and yet they transformed my space completely. Those bright yellow flowers brought warmth and happiness into my first home in a way nothing else could.

Daffodils have been part of my story for much longer than that, though. My dad was one of the original landscapers of Milton Keynes, and he planted thousands upon thousands of daffodil bulbs. I used to feel such pride seeing them year after year, dancing in the sunlight, their heads turning as if they were alive. Even now, when I see them swaying in the breeze, it takes me straight back to those moments.

What I love most is how accessible that joy still is. You can buy a bunch of daffodils for just £1, and yet they bring so much light into a room — and into your mood. There’s something incredibly special about that. I often think how lovely it would be if more people shared that feeling — even something as simple as handing a bunch to a stranger and wishing them a lovely day. It’s such a small gesture, but it can mean so much.

There is always a slight sadness when their season comes to an end. I find myself wishing they could last all summer, that their colour could stretch on indefinitely. But perhaps part of their magic lies in their fleeting nature. The anticipation as they first push through the ground, followed by that sudden burst of radiant yellow across February and into March — it’s something I never tire of.

For me, daffodils aren’t just flowers. They are memories, heritage, joy, and a reminder that brighter days are always just around the corner.