Yellow Daisies

I love the color yellow.  I remember in tenth grade home economics class when Mrs. Gaines gave us the color wheel and taught us how to put colors and patterns together so we could dress properly.  I thought it was interesting that yellow was a primary color.  Not fiery like red or icy like blue, but just kind of peaceful, lying there between the two other primary colors.  And what you could do with it.  Mix it with blue and make green, mix it with red and make orange.  Such a useful color, always happy to contribute to the benefit of others.
It makes sense that sunshine was always depicted as yellow in our coloring books.  It was warm and seductive but not too hot like red.  And yellow flowers just have an inexplicable method of touching the heart.
Which brings me to the crux of my story.  One picture perfect October day we were down in Tishomingo County visiting my parents.  It was the kind of day songs and poems are written about.  Just as close to a perfect day as you are ever going to have in an imperfect world.  Aah!  October in the South.  Not too hot and not too cold.  The butterflies still flitted around the fields and pastures, they had not flown away or gone into a permanent sleep.  Bees were still buzzing, but not for much longer.  We knew it, and there was always the feeling that maybe they did too.  They were just so busy accomplishing all the last minute stuff they needed to do before winter set in. 
On this particular picture perfect October day I said to my husband, "I want to go to the creek". 
Now the creek I was referring to was what we called Cagle Creek, although the proper term for it was  Indian Creek.  It started in town in Mineral Springs Park and flowed down across land that belonged to the Cagle family.  It was the creek of my childhood.  There was a deep pool in which fish and sometimes children swam, to the right side of the ford where the tractors and trucks crossed the creek to go to the field that lay just on the other side.  When I was young, the ford was rocky and crystal clear.  It was shallow and cold and felt oh so refreshing on a hot Mississippi summer day. One of the best things in life was to lay down on the shallow rocky bottom and let the cold clear water run over you and wash away all the heat and humidity and dust accumulated during a miserably hot Mid South day.  I had not been in years, but somehow this day I really wanted to go back and revisit this beloved spot from my childhood. 
It was about four miles from my folk's house to the little dirt road that ran down to the creek.  On this particular day, from the moment we turned down the well worn path, there was beauty everywhere.  Some logs had fallen in the pine thicket that lined each side of the road, and from those rich pine logs, ripe with decay, grew the most beautiful wild yellow daisies.  They were strewn all along the roadway on each side and the green of the pine trees was the perfect accent to the most beautiful shade of yellow.
When we reached the creek I realized the spot I had so loved in childhood was no more.  They had dredged it, straightening it from the winding branch I once knew.  The deep pool was gone and the ford, for the most part, had disappeared.  Still, it was my creek.  The oak and willow trees still grew along each creek bank, and the cool shady glen was what I remembered.  Peering across the opening between the trees and down what remained of the field road, I spied yellow.  Curious to know what lay on the other side, I took off my sandals, rolled up my pant legs and waded across.  Glorious day in the morning!!  The entire open field, which was comprised of several acres, was completely covered in yellow daisies.  They were dancing in the autumn breeze, beautiful beyond words.  I stood for a moment totally mesmerized.  Seldom in life does one come upon something that perfect.  Butterflies flew and bees buzzed... and I stood still and drank heavily of the sunshine and the sight before me.  One thing I knew.  My husband was going to have to see this.  There was no way he was going to remain on the other side of the creek.  I made my way back to the bank and shouted for him to come over. 
"But I can't walk on the rocks', he said.  "My feet are not used to it".  
"Well, your feet are just going to have to suffer",  I told him.  "You have to see this".
With those words of encouragement he removed his shoes and socks and slowly waded across.  We stood together and stared.  A perfect moment in time.  Forever imprinted on our minds.
I think sometimes of how Wordsworth must have felt when he came upon the daffodils growing in the Lake Country of England.  That sight inspired one of the best loved poems in English literature.  The golden daffodils had touched his heart in much the same way the golden daisies touched mine.  He wrote that sometimes when he was pensive or sad the flowers would flash upon his inward eye and then his heart would fill with laughter.   The last lines of that poem are ,'and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils'.  Sometimes my heart dances with the daisies.