I missed the exact day when these trumpet-heads burst from their cocoons. I’ve been trying to be as mindful about Spring unfolding as I was last year.But it’s harder without the pooch in tow.
However, on a walk to the post office yesterday, I noticed that the day’s welcome sunlight had finally persuaded the forsythia to stop peeping out one bud at a time and, instead, to step into the world en masse.
How can a darkened soul resist the joy of Spring yellows?
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