My kitchen is still torn apart, no stove, paint daubs all over the walls where I’ve been testing colors, lighting still not installed. But I have a vase of daffodils on the counter. Every time I walk by there is a faint green scent of earth and leaves coming from their direction. Like a song you’ve heard before but whose title eludes you, just out of reach. I’ve been using a new shampoo for a few weeks and every morning, the perfume of the suds has been reminding me of something happy/sad. Is it peonies, I wondered? No. Lilies of the valley? No. What, what, what? When I unwrapped the daffodils, though, I realized I finally had the name. It was spring.