My mother’s forsythia bush is letting it rip this spring.
Huge yellow sprays falling over themselves, practically tripping over themselves in their upward reach towards sunlight. It’s a wild, euphoric mass of lemon-colored bloom.
If you’re near a forsythia bush, take a look at the individual flowers. They are small, sweet blossoms.
One blossom is too tiny to light up the landscape. Take hundreds together, though, and you’ve got a plant that might turn a few heads. Take thousands together, and you’ve got a radiant force of nature.
Its beauty and its might are made up of many, many tiny parts.
And springtime is many things, not the least of which is this: the triumph of many, many tiny blossoms to light up the landscape.