Forsythia is known as the bright harbinger of spring because it bursts into color just a tad sooner than the rest of the bloomers. I never noticed it in California, but I guess one tends to notice these things more when the countryside looks like a black and white photograph for five months of the year.
New Englanders must feel the same desperation for an end-of-winter sighting that I felt this year because these shrubbies are everywhere!
By the time we arrived last June all of the blooms must have gone because I don't remember seeing them. I hear they are sort of the Marilyn Monroe of flowers, but I'm thinking they may make a cheerful border between us and our neighbor's pile of leaves.
And, speaking of leaves, I have to say that Frog Mama was right. This week Buckaroo and I started our daily walk to visit the horses again, something we haven't done since our days with Blue, and today I realized there are leaves on the trees-- and they are green! They are few and far between, but they're there. It seems to have happened miraculously during the night.
Also, there's something satisfying about jumping in a lake fully clothed. It feels reckless-- even if one has a dresser full of dry clothes in a house only 200 feet away. So, on Monday that's just what I did.