When I was a kid we had a row of forsythia plants outside our back door that kept us hidden from the rest of the world. They must have been quite old as I distinctly remember the dry branches on the bottom as I would crawl around underneath as if I were in a dense yellow forest. Lately I have been wondering where our inspiration comes from, why we gravitate to what we do. What moments in life lead us down the path that we choose? Does my love of yellow stem from a bush planted by the people my parents bought their first house from? Is it that simple. I can spot a blooming forsythia miles down any highway, as I have since I traveled back and forth to work since I was a young teen. —Dominick
I absolutely love this post Dom.