The flowers are making an appearance. Right on time. The pear trees have changed into their dresses of green. The cherries are not far behind. Their pale pink blossoms are spilling confetti into the air and onto the paths. The wild azaleas are rising their blush faces to the sun. The pink dogwoods are magnificent with yet another shade of pink. But there are some other colors, too. Orange, yellow, even some red buds around creating a collage of color.

Today I am noticing the purple. There is a bumper crop of Wisteria this year. The color purple, in all its hues, drips from the blossoms. They are shaped like grape clusters, hanging downward from thick vines. I see them everywhere. Their smell announces their presence. They are stunning along the edges of the roadways.

I have never seen as much Wisteria as I have this year. It is everywhere. Purple kudzu. Hanging from the tallest trees. Entering the forests as if it owns them. There is a difference between the ornamental varieties and the invasive ones. The wild ones take over the trees on which they climb. They can choke out the life of a tree simply by climbing it. They are hardy plants and live through the seasons in our region easily. Still, for all the damage they can cause they are some of the most beautiful of the spring flowers.

No wonder they symbolize, longevity. They hang on for years and years as they continue their climb. The way they intertwine with their support trees seems a type of romance. I remember a classmate in college who wrote a beautiful love story/fairy tale about Wisteria in my children’s literature class. When it is in bloom, the association with love is common. It also signifies strength, endurance, and resilience. Renewal. New life. Artists have been inspired by this one flower for generations.

I have sat beneath pergolas covered with purple blossoms which provided shade and a lovely respite, like being hidden away in a secret purple cave. I have seen them climb lattice and archways to make a statement. On old ruins, they introduce interest and intrigue. A wandering maiden put under a spell perhaps? A princess under an enchantment, waiting for a prince to come set her free? Or a queen who refuses to leave the home she loved, even in death, remains to hold steady to her birthplace? So many story possibilities, set free in the imagination by the beauty of the wild Wisteria.

I might just have to write one.