There is no doubt a deep and meaningful message in the fact that gorse offers such startling radiant joy and very sharp thorns. I could possibly ponder on it for hours. Or you could. Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy the swathes of brightness appearing everywhere.
'Gloomy Winter's now awa, Saft the westlan breezes blaw; Mang the birks o Stanely shaw The mavis sings fu cheerie, O;' [...] -- Robert Tannahill, (1808)
These cheeky wee things, springing up from the earth on a swathe of grass nearby my home, had me wondering what the collective noun for crocuses was. And did it matter? Confident in their perfection, they are beyond such silliness that our species dwells on.