I thought I’d missed the ghost trees this year. Their white flowers flicker off in the woods before the oaks start leafing out. They catch the corner of my eye as I drive down State Road. Spring is coming, they say.
Spring was surely coming, in a riot of first yellow then purple, but I hadn’t seen the ghost trees. I’d missed them for sure.
But I hadn’t. They’re here.
My ghost trees have many names, shadbush, serviceberry, and amelanchier among them. “Shadbush” because they bloom when the herring (shad) are running. Are the herring running?
There’s nothing ghostly about the ghost tree at the foot of my outside stairs. Maybe it’s a shadbush? Whatever it is, spring is most definitely here. I’m wearing a T-shirt, and the front door is open.