The first flowers begin at the bottom,
New shoots of forsythia,
almost out of sight unless you look close.
The promise of spring
lies always near the roots.
About this poem.
The picture is one I took yesterday, the first yellow teases of color on a forsythia that I bought a couple of years ago in memory of my wife’s mother. It struck me how the first flowers start down low, with new growth near the roots.
But then, in the end, we all emerge from our roots.