I first met the object of my affection in a nursery, surrounded by visions almost equally as lovely. Off in a corner, spreading arms dressed in startling pink. Deep pink. Blushing pink. Lovelier than a rose and smelling enticingly like heaven.
Oh, to be sure .. there were detractors when I first spoke of my infatuation; "Beautiful, but too clingy and prone to jealous rages where even your house siding and roof tiles will be torn to shreds if you're not careful." I listened .. but I wasn't afraid. And I've been careful .. but still loving and nurturing, waiting for this day.
Bruce discovered the treachery first. And I am heartbroken. Crushed. Here's what he showed me:
It's purple! And white!. Oh, still nice, but ... not what could have - should have - been. Not what I special ordered from the Green Thumb catalogue, waiting weeks for its arrival. I feel like I've had a changeling these past three years. I am like a parent, bereft. I am wondering if there is an Elven Illuminati whose purpose is to swap my beloved pink wisteria with this mundane purple and white thing.
The wisteria vines growing around the pergola are crazy interesting. I did that. With Mother Nature's help of course. It make me sad to think of how often I tucked in wayward vines.
This is what I ordered ...
The French playwright, Francois Sagan has said "You should celebrate the end of a love affair as they celebrate death in New Orleans, with songs, laughter, dancing and a lot of wine."
I think I need to have several glasses of wine and think about this.
No comments:
Post a Comment