Flowering

It’s exciting to find the first flowers of spring. Green sprouts poke out of the frozen dirt, and while you’re looking the other way, buds unfurl and bits of yellow, white or pink peek out. They emerge cautiously so as not to awaken the snow gods, and we all hold our breath for the change in the season.

Morning walks are still chilly, with salt on some sidewalks and the remnants of leaves in the gutter. To counter the mostly dull landscape, houses we pass have green shamrock decorations, bushes hung with pastel eggs, or a small inflatable leprechaun. It all seems like a vain attempt to declare the end of winter, but here and there nature is playing along.

That bush now has small green leaves on the tips of its bare branches. Mini daffodils have sprung up between the basement windows and sidewalk of the tavern. One yard has two clumps of snowbells peeking under the fence. A forsythia bush, trimmed into an impossible globe shape has the faintest yellow outline. Bags of mulch are stacked by the steps, awaiting a slightly warmer day to be disbursed.

Turning the corner, we find an audacious crocus, not afraid to flaunt its deep purple petals. Eventually it will be overshadowed by tulips, flowering cherry and tulip trees, but for now it is the star, the brightest spot on the block. Purple is regal, commanding much more attention than white or pale pink. The trees aren’t casting any shade yet as this small pioneer is fairly shouting “Spring!” 

A few unseasonably warm days have filled us with cautious hope. We ache to believe that groundhog’s prediction while knowing that Chicago can hang onto winter till deep into May. But we’ll take a balmy afternoon, some sun, and the opportunity to try a lighter-weight coat. We know it’s coming, in all its floral glory.