But in the early spring, while the alders and cottonwoods are still wearing winter drab, the forsythia bursts into glorious, riotous, brilliant yellow blooms from the base of the branches to the new green shoots at their tips.
Each spring, I look for a bush that has overstepped its boundaries, obstructing a sidewalk or moving into a neighbouring property. There, I gather an armload to bring home and brighten my kitchen table.
|Bursting out all over|
|Zooming in. Tidy round anthers in a circular cup.|
The flowers don't last long. The ones I picked two days ago are already folding their petals; new leaves will soon replace them.