Yellow is...

I know its really spring when the forsythia are in bloom. Aaron keeps telling me, as we drive by bush after bush of bright yellow triumph: "I don't like forsythia as much as you do...", with a small hint of a grimace.

He's decided they are entirely too yellow by far. "vulgar" was his word. "Garish" I admitted.

"Yellow is a sundress" he explained "Not a ball gown," his clarification on the idea that forsythia took their hue just too far to be tolerated, "Yellow is flats, not high heels. That's what yellow is."

He was so matter-of-fact. So sure and decided.

In only a few weeks their splendid yellow will have faded, the bouyant little blooms will have surrendered their proud switch-like stalks and I'll be forced to begin to endure the vomitous magentas and purples of rhododendron, but for now I will enjoy the vivacity of the forsythia, harbingers of spring and sun and something a little more vibrant than the cold new england gray.