For a good many years, I lived in the suburbs of New York City. In the late winters, while driving along the roads, I'd keep my eyes eagerly peeled for forsythia bushes. And when I spotted these bright yellow blossoms, I'd know spring was coming very soon. It didn't matter if the gray gloomy skies and frosty air said otherwise. Seeing these flowers made me so happy that I planted several bushes in my garden, a decision I later came to regret, because they are such overly enthusiastic growers. Still, I have a fondness for forsythia and miss looking for them.