IF ONLY WE’D GROWN; LAID DOWN ROOTS. A thorny issue that’d always nettled her. When the Doc leaves, it’s a relief. She no longer needs to pretend that she isn’t climbing up the walls.
The poison Ivy feels, flowers. Scratching that itch is no rash decision, even though she knows the time has arrived to tend to her garden.
It’s just another bed in another nursery. Another vegetable.
With a snip of a stalk, Ivy finally rids herself of a plant that’s in the wrong place.