I have been visiting this yellow magnolia almost as long as I have lived in Madison, not to marvel at its admittedly spectacular blossoms of beefy petals, smelling faintly of Lemon Joy, and each almost as large as my hand; but hoping to find it drenched in buds, perched so bird-like that from a distance you could convince yourself you have heard them chirping, poised for a flight that begins with an unfolding.