Glorious Gold, Stashes and Caches of Treasure...

I had forgotten just how beautiful the humble daffodil is, with its glorious gold set in seemingly simple, unassuming forms - yet with its bold 'trumpet' heralding the arrival of Spring. How these blooms manage to emerge from their tight, spear-like buds seems a most improbable feat, and yet emerge they do, in defiance of the winds and rain of the early months of the year, with their unique scent that defies description.

Returning home, I was suddenly reminded of the beauty of the daffodil and the fact that Spring is indeed on its way - accompanied by snowdrops and primroses. Nothing can be comparable to seeing these all growing wild, especially in the magical settings that I had taken for granted for so many years and now can only treasure from a distance... Glorious gold indeed!

Also in bloom were the 'Cornish roses' - Aeonium - the very hardy succulents that send out their ambitious stalky stems, outwards and upwards as a challenge to gravity and gusts of wind, bearing their golden clusters...

Likewise facing the elements, off I went in search of my own hidden treasures - seaglass! Although becoming increasing rare, I did find a few nubs and nuggets of weathered, frosted glass. This has become pure gold in itself, given the proliferation of plastic for packaging and bottling and the growing number of like-minded beachcombers, intent on seeking out these magically polished 'pebbles'. While I do have a specific, 'secret' beach for this - discovered through trial, error and elimination - the location appears to be common knowledge amongst fellow magpies who converge here from near and far. All are drawn by that irrepressible urge to find this unique treasure, one that has been etched by time and tide and eventually washed up on the shore. Each being is driven, to greater or lesser degree, by their private need to quench this quirky thirst, an almost primal covetousness. For this is a little object of desire with a strange hybrid beauty, created when Nature takes over what is Man-made, hiding the past under rounded forms and smoothened surfaces.

There is a certain camaraderie to be found nevertheless, amongst all these coastal scavengers and chancers, and the overall atmosphere is one of tranquility, punctuated by that keen determination to pick out the perfect piece from amongst the sand, seaweed, flotsam and jetsam swept by the tides. I have to admit that there is precedence in my 'Gollum-like' glee when procuring coastal treasures and the gloating, greedy satisfaction when running my finds through my fingers, in a jumble of colour and shapes. All is closely tied to one of my guilty childhood pleasures....

Having illicit access to enveloped packages of semi-precious gemstones in my early years, thanks to the family trade, I would happily let the jewels trickle down over my hands, in a magical flow that gleamed and glistened in the light. However, that could not satisy any hunger and merely stoked the fire to possess a secret, sinful stash to keep all to myself. Inevitably caught red-handed, I was promptly banished from the jewellery workshop and was rarely given the opportunity to play with the cracked, chipped stones that were of no commercial use but were tantalizing left to one side; worthless but priceless to my craving eyes. It was therefore with pleasure that I was finally able to get my greedy fingers on those caches of gemstones, after decades of coveting... Amethyst, peridot, citrine, garnet, moonstone and opal poured over my palms once more, but so did a few tears for the acquisition of this treasure heralded a greater loss and the rich, bright, sparkling hoard was weighed down by a certain sadness. But just look at how they glint and glow...