The Wisteria's room.

 

Sarah turns in circles, something is missing in her hands. The scissors, the gloves for the garden, the thin cordage to secure the small twigs that begin to fall...everything is there. However, she feels something is missing.
Time has passed, it is true. The children are no longer there to play around the blue clusters. They are no longer there to make their laughter heard and turn around the wisteria, which was hardly bigger than them. She looks up, the wisteria continues to grow, but the children are gone.

It is always a pleasure to let herself go into the blue-mauve dreams, invaded by the sweet scent and tenderness of the flowering branches. It's so beautiful to dream, Sarah repeats to herself in silence, so her neighbors will not think she's speaking alone. 

Emily, my little romantic who always asked to stay a little later on the terrace to see the sun mixing his yellow lights with the violets of the wisteria. Violet and yellow, complementary colors, they go well together...sometimes.

Amanda, you used to pick up the fallen flowers to make mandalas on the lawn, knowing that the April wind would take care of changing everything a few minutes later. My dear, you knew already that everything changes all the time.

Matthew, you just wanted the wisteria to be a little bigger, a little stronger to have the right to climb on it. Now that it's big enough, you're gone. And Emma, all she wanted was to sleep in the wisteria's room and leave the window open to 'scent her dreams,' as she used to say. What are your dreams today, little Emma?

The wisteria's room was not the biggest in the house, but it was probably the most welcoming. A canopy bed, the old grandma's dresser, and an armchair next to the window, just in the right place to look at the wisteria and the children grow up.

Sitting in her armchair, Sarah had the perfect light to create her quilts; they would be Christmas presents for each one of the kids.

Time flies, it's true. The kids don't come often, but the wisteria is there waiting for them, like Sarah and her quilts. Oh, my dears, I miss you.