In the garden of Maduma, the house I grew up we were blessed with a spectacular Wisteria sinensis planted by my grandmother and a rarity in Zimbabwe.
In the brief African Spring it's bare winter branches would spike with an abundance of inflorescence, these coaxed by the warmer weather would elongate, and open into cascades of heavenly scented lilac flowers.
After school I would often be found atop a wall in the Wisteria courtyard, surrounded by a sea of these Lilac flowers, drunk on their scent and the utter beauty of it all. It's blooming was a joy that I celebrated and revelled in and my love of Wisteria has not waned. I am still as captivated by this climber as I was as a child and if not more so and the glorious abundance of Wisteria in London allows me to relive those moments again. The brevity of its blooming makes it all the more precious me.
