I remember driving through the suburbs of northern Virginia in the springtime surrounded by explosions of pink and white blossoms as the dogwoods, magnolias and cherry trees started blooming. I remember how every morning brought a bit more colour to the bare branches left behind by winter until one day everything was taken over by the brightest of green foliage.
I remember walking into the woodlands one morning with a cup of earl grey tea, to be greeted by a red fox and being surprised by how small it was. I remember the trees creaking in the morning breeze as I ventured deeper leaving the sleeping neighbourhood behind. I remember squirrels playing around while I was busy collecting flowers to press in a little book that I kept with me. I remember spring beauties (Claytonia virginica), annual honesty (Lunaria annua), birdfoot violets (Viola pedata), blue stars (Amsonia hubrichtii), and fire pinks (Silene virginica) as being part of my early collection. I remember it being freezing cold, but nonetheless beautiful.
I remember long afternoon walks in search of buttercups and bluebells and the woods being alive with white-tailed deer and robbins. I remember how the northern cardinals brought splashes of red to the barren branches and I remember hopping over the rocks of the babbling brook the day we found the bluebells. It was still early in the season.
I remember all these beautiful things and it fills my heart with joy. Such a beautiful time in such a beautiful place. I remember leaving a piece of myself behind, binding me to the wildflowers of the woods forever.