At Christmas, I forced forsythia branches so that they started to bloom on Christmas Eve. It took three weeks. This is something I usually do at Easter, so I could guess at the timing.

This spring, even though I won't have a church service to display them, the brilliant yellow blossoms lift the spirit. I cut them a week ago. Three days later, they were in bud. Now they are out in full, the first blossoms starting to fall.

So fast! I will have to cut more late this week so we have these sun bright flowers blooming for Easter. Fortunately, my forsythia is terribly overgrown. Even with two bouquets cut for inside, after it blooms there will be more to trim out.

What the speed of blooming suggests to me is that the plant is ready to go as soon as temperatures warm up. This should not surprise me. People in my area were boiling sap for maple syrup the beginning of March. Cold days gave trees and producers days off, but they started right up again when the weather warmed.

The lawn still looks brown. The trees look grey and empty. But I suspect we are going to find spring arriving in a hurry. The mild winter and the warmth of early March have plants and trees ready to spring to life.

Spring colour always brings us joy. After the silent emptiness of winter, we long for new life. Already, there are more birds singing. Soon, the colour will freshen our world and give us joy.

For me though, spring also makes me impatient. I want to be planting. I want fresh lettuce from the garden. I want tulips to show above ground so I know that the squirrels didn't get them. Spring makes me want to be outside.

I'm fortunate. The road in front of my house is not full of walkers. I can head out and count on greeting neighbours from the other side of the road. The yard is large enough to provide space to work and wander. I can get outside without breaking the physical distance rules.

I feel for those who cannot. Others will have the same longing to be outside, but without a place where they can do that safely. Kids will long to play in the park, swing, slide, climb, but parents will have to say, "no." Spring will summon us, but we may not be able to heed the call.

There will be green outside our windows. Colours will show up in daffodils that we see when we can walk, when we go for groceries. The warmth will flow inside from our windows. But this year, in some ways, when spring calls, we will have to turn down the summons.

I have a plan for a new planter with morning glories growing up the wall, but the previous owner left it empty. I need earth to fill it. That doesn't feel like an emergency product. Maybe, when I get a new battery for the lawn tractor--a fairly essential product--the store will have bags of soil. If not, I will make myself give up the ideal project and just use a smaller planter. Shaking off even such a small goal I am finding hard.

We feel the stress in little things --my grocery order included none of the salad greens I asked for. We feel it with bigger things--last week, I saw that our water heater had started to leak. But for some people, there are the personal crises in the midst of the pandemic. These become almost unmanageable.

I hold in thought and prayer and love two people whose spouses are palliative right now. Once Covid19 restrictions are piled on, a painful time is rendered almost unendurable. I worry for those with significant health issues who have to limit visits to doctors' officers, the visits of nurses to their homes, or who enter treatment, adding to their risk of exposure.

There are things that feel urgent, things that need to be done and can't be done. We are impatient for the return of normal, to discover what the shape of the new normal will be. But all we can do is wait.

Cathy Hird lives on the shore of Georgian Bay