When I was in my teens, we lived in an old house beside a wild park in White Plains, New York. There was a trellis up the side of the house. Up the trellis climbed wisteria---thick with gnarled branches, green leaves, and purple clusters of flowers that hung like fragrant bunches of grapes. In spring, I would lie beneath the wisteria, and gaze up into its luscious blossoms, lost in a purple haze of beauty. It was there that I wrote my first poetry. Years later, I love the wisteria arbor that grows a stone's throw from the ocean along Vancouver's Sea Wall. When it is in bloom, I visit it every day. Wisteria speaks to me of the blessings of returning spring. In this image, a friend brings her girlfriend a surprise birthday picnic beside the water. Like the wisteria blossoms, her friend is gorgeous, overflowing with the wine of life. Happy birthday, wisteria girl! Whatever the season, you remind us of the richness of purple, and of the beauty of the Earth. Story on back. |