I remember a spring years ago when the March temperatures stayed stubbornly in the 40s (the highs, that is) and it seemed as if the forsythia would never bloom. This was in the old days, before I’d planted crocus and miniature daffodils, bleeding heart and buttercups. Back then, the forsythia was our only bellwether.

It must have been a long winter. The girls were young, maybe not yet in school, and we had been cooped up inside for what seemed like forever.

Every day we would go out in the chill and check the forsythia buds. Maybe we checked them too often. Maybe they were the watched pot that never boils. Whatever the reason, I remember the jubilation when they finally burst into bloom.

This year, that same forsythia bloomed almost without my noticing it. A result of warming weather patterns — or speeding time?