One of the things I look forward to every year is forsythia season at the park. I missed it two years ago during the most intense phase of the lockdown, and it’s an ongoing source of grief.
This year I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make it because I was injured most of the fall, but I’m now running long-enough distances to get to the park and back. (Thank you physical therapy and Susan B, who turned me on to Solomon’s Seal.)
Most of the year the forsythias are unremarkable — just the green understory — but for these few weeks, they’re like a fog bank of yellow flowers, hovering above the ground, spilling over the cliffs.
I’m already looking forward to next year.
