The dogwood is not my favorite flower.
But oh, how I love it.
It sings of all the springs of my later childhood.
The glimpse of white blooms, a lone dogwood among a forest of non-blooming green. Such pure white.
I remember waking up to my second-floor window, glimpsing and hoping that the white on the trees just across from my window was a hint that there would be no school that day. A mid-April snow shower was no big news in the mountains of North Carolina.
But alas, no. Just the first morning of a tree waking up to spring.
Nine years of big plains and bigger skies almost made me forget.
So I eagerly pointed out this tree to my children...perhaps their first glance of the flower they've only seen as a brass ornament for our tree.
They began pointing them out on our recent trip to Williamsburg. And I saw them again, accompanied by azaleas on a recent trip to Georgia.
I'm soaking up this year's spring...even if I'm technically in the mid-Atlantic.