The forsythia is blooming this week. Offering as they do that first magical burst of color in the drab late winter landscape, these bright yellow flowers on otherwise bare branches are hard to miss. When their blooms subside to plain green leaves, forsythia may become anonymous shrubbery to most, but not to me.
When my brother and sister and I were kids, one whole side of our house was lined with forsythia, and there was just enough room between the bushes and the wall for three little children to squeeze into. Near the middle of the hedgerow, the space widened into a tiny enclosed bower, which we called our clubhouse. We played for hours there, weaving in and out of leafy fairy-door openings, inventing all sorts of games that involved imaginary perils and daring escapes.
We took turns maneuvering that one flexible branch that was our control stick for both the seafaring and space-traveling ship our clubhouse could become whenever the situation required it. Get us out of here! we would cry, and our ship would zoom us away from any danger.
This morning, as I walked the dog, I peered into the spray of yellow flowers lining the hill behind our house, looking for a bit of space where three kids might hide, but there was no sanctuary in this forsythia. Even so, I reached in and grasped a branch, running my hand up and down the pebbled texture I didn't know I remembered so well. Get us out of here! I thought.
But it didn't work, so I continued on foot.
When my brother and sister and I were kids, one whole side of our house was lined with forsythia, and there was just enough room between the bushes and the wall for three little children to squeeze into. Near the middle of the hedgerow, the space widened into a tiny enclosed bower, which we called our clubhouse. We played for hours there, weaving in and out of leafy fairy-door openings, inventing all sorts of games that involved imaginary perils and daring escapes.
We took turns maneuvering that one flexible branch that was our control stick for both the seafaring and space-traveling ship our clubhouse could become whenever the situation required it. Get us out of here! we would cry, and our ship would zoom us away from any danger.
This morning, as I walked the dog, I peered into the spray of yellow flowers lining the hill behind our house, looking for a bit of space where three kids might hide, but there was no sanctuary in this forsythia. Even so, I reached in and grasped a branch, running my hand up and down the pebbled texture I didn't know I remembered so well. Get us out of here! I thought.
But it didn't work, so I continued on foot.
Nice combination of past and present.
ReplyDeleteGreat description! I too associate forsythia with the adventures of childhood.
ReplyDeleteIt's like the quote posted. We write to relive the event and cherish the memories triggered from an afternoon walk. Love it! How fun.
ReplyDelete