The forsythia blooming has been my personal, “official” signal of Spring’s arrival for a long time. Decades ago, I lived in a house surrounded by forsythia bushes that I dutifully clipped into globe-like shapes. I say “globe-like” because I was not very skilled in the endeavor; nonetheless, I managed to convey my intention. It seems to me that for about eleven-and-a-half months a year, forsythia bushes are relatively uninteresting: generic green in the summer, giving way to dropping leaves in the fall and stark branches in winter. For a couple of weeks in spring, however, they display their bright yellow finery, as if channeling the promise of the sun’s caresses while we’re still despairing in winter’s gloom.
This was my ride through the 86th Street Transverse in Central Park yesterday. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!