Wednesday, March 10, 2010

About the cover

John planted the forsythia bushes when they were just scrawny little twigs. Each year they usher in the spring with their bright yellow glory. How many springs since he has died?  How is it possible they can bloom when he is gone?

At night I go out on the deck and hear them  rustling in the breeze.  They are brown and lifeless in the winter.  Is he out there?  Does he hear me?  Can he see me? 
The image of forsythia in the book is one of life, death and rebirth.

That's why I like the photo..... the clouds, but the brilliant blue sky peaking through...hope... the branches so slender and beautiful.... sort of like the fragility of life...

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