Memories of wisteria

Hanging heavy like grapes,
So full of promise.
I bend low and deeply inhale, waiting to be transported.
But I remain firmly in the present,
And wistfully long for others,
For those so full of fragrance
That memories are stirred.
A feast for the eyes or a feast for my nose?
I want both.
The wisteria teases,
Whispering words that I cannot quite hear.
The wisteria beckons to me with its colors,
But fails to delight all of my senses.
Disappointed, I turn away,
And towards smells dancing in my head.


2 thoughts on “Memories of wisteria

    • Thank you.

      I was walking the grounds of the Indianapolis Art Center before a talk about an architect when I approached some wisteria that was blooming. I know full well that purple wisteria is beautiful but unlike white wisteria, not fragrant. Even so, I bent down to inhale it and was disappointed…and immediately thought back to the purple and white wisteria I used to visit at Filoli in Woodside, CA. The white always smelled so divine.

      Liked by 1 person

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