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  • Writer's pictureCrone

It looks like jasmine and it smells like jasmine...

...but it's actually a clematis.


The fragrance is unbearably beautiful. The vines climb over the high wall of a garden that runs alongside a narrow footpath. I could hear there was someone in the garden and I called over, asking if I could take a sprig. He said yes and came through the garden gate to greet me.


Such blossoms, such fragrance, it's an act of public benevolence to grow them.


The man was about 60ish, I guess. I'd heard him talking to a woman, I assume his wife. Their house is large and attractive. The garden too, from what I could see, peeking through the high wooden door as I passed.


I never thought that I'd be 50 and alone. My friend says, many more people are choosing to be single, not to have children, not to accept an imperfect match. But I didn't choose. This isn't what I wanted. I know some people do. My friend Linda. My friend Carol. But they have close connections with their families.


I have the animals.


And the scent of jasmine on an evening walk. A fragrance of another life in another home in another existence.

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