I carefully clipped each of the dozens of downed daffodils. The heavy rains, which we needed so desperately, had pummeled the blossoms into the ground. The oozy goo dripped from each stem as I snipped it. I tried, unsuccessfully, to direct the ooze to the ground and away from my hands and bare legs. Once inside, I carefully placed each stem in a vase, arranging by height and by color. The smell was intoxicating; such sweetness after such destruction.