Honeysuckle

 

The vines were everywhere, and they were impossible to get rid of, like any invasive species.

She knew she should hate it, poison it, burn it, physically tear it out of the earth, but she never could.

For a shimmering few weeks in the heart of Spring, every breath taken outside was full of its intoxicating scent.

Dripping from the vines in drifts of white, the flowers were alive with honeybees and the promise that winter was gone for good.

So, she left the honeysuckle to clamber and grasp everything in their path, silently strangling their hosts with their beauty.