However, I am just about to welcome forsythia blooms because my husband forced them inside. It is an easy thing to do—the key is you have to remember to get them inside at the right time. Fortunately Andy did remember and the tiny buds are just starting to spring open and share their sunny disposition with me. It is not too late to try it yourself. Simply snip several branches from a forsythia bush, put them in a large bucket of water and give them plenty of sun. Before you know it, you will have an early spring!
Forsythia is yellow, but it is remarkable how much variation in color there is—from a creamy yellow to a more orange yolk yellow. I love when they are not pruned too heavily to allow the branches to create many spikes of yellow flowers that look like a fireworks display.
Forsythia is said to mean good nature, innocence, and anticipation. How apt as I anticipate with great glee the cheery display!
At the Equinox
by Arthur Sze
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and, at the equinox, bathe in its gleam.
Using all the tides of starlight,
vicissitude is our charm.
On the mud flats off Homer,
I catch the tremor when waves start to slide back in;
and, from Roanoke, you carry
the leafing jade smoke of willows.
Looping out into the world, we thread
and return. The lapping waves
cover an expanse of mussels clustered on rocks;
and, giving shape to what is unspoken,
forsythia buds and blooms in our arms.