Budding

text and haiku by Kristen Lindquist

A sparkling day, the river running high and bright out back as the sun relaxes into the west. I ran into some neighbors at the corner market and we shared relief that this has thus far been an “easy” winter, without the constant snow-shoveling of last winter. We both have short driveways that defy being plowed–nowhere else to put our cars or for the plow to push the excess snow. So shoveling is always at least a two-part, back-aching process: once to get out of the driveway in the morning, and at least once more to get back into the driveway in the evening after the street plow has banked several feet of snow across it. Don’t miss that at all.

My neighbors have a bigger yard than I do and get more sun. They tell me their crocuses are already starting to poke up little green leaf spikes. And they mentioned their forsythia is starting to bud. So on the walk back from the market, I clipped a few forsythia sprigs from another neighbor’s bush (she doesn’t mind; she has it pruned back to nothing every other year). Hopefully, in a few weeks, spring will have sprung forth from the vase I put them in. Apparently you can force blueberry plant cuttings, as well, which I’m tempted to try. Usually I remember to start some narcissus bulbs or at least an amaryllis, but this year my meager forsythia twigs will have to do until the gardens outside begin to awaken.

Just thinking about
forsythia twigs budding
makes me feel warmer.