She inhaled, then stopped and looked up.
The jasmine vines intermingled with the wisteria and they
covered the pergola roof and leaped across to scale the neighboring pine tree.
Fifteen years ago she’d planted them with a hope and a prayer,
because she had the blackest thumb there ever was, and now look at them.
Just look at them.
There was a twinge in her heart and a tear came to her
eye, because this time next year she would be living somewhere else.
When she sadly looked down, there it was. A pod. The
wisteria would go with her.
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