Driving to work damp and chilled in early April. Bare branch tips promise swelling buds. Occasional burst of gold in the scrubby woods. Wild hedges of forsythia have escaped into the brush. Arms flung skyward or trailing on the ground; each year more territory taken. On the subject of forsythia my dad said, "Just don't let the branches touch the ground, whatever you do. There is no going back."
wanton forsythia spreads
gold along the road