Two years ago, I thought I was just planting some hydrangeas. Maybe adding a bit of curb appeal. Fast forward to now: I am a woman possessed.

Not by demons (though that would make for a good Tuesday), but by creepers!  No, not the kind that lurk in the shadows of internet comment sections or hover too long in elevators. Though I have a psychological file on them too.

I’m talking about the botanical variety. The vines. The stranglers.
The ones that wrap and wind and take over, slow and sneaky, like they’re auditioning for a plant-based horror film.

Ever since I started tending to my backyard like it was my emotional support sanctuary, I can’t stop seeing them. The creepers. Everywhere.

Tree limbs? Entwined.
Fence posts? Hijacked.
Even from a moving car or a train platform, my eyes lock in on a dangling vine and my inner voice screams, “I could take that down in three snips.”

It’s become instinctual. Primal. A need to detangle, free, and beautify.

And yes, it’s about the garden. And,  also, it’s totally not just about the garden.

Somewhere between pruning the jasmine and waging war on the wisteria, I realized:

I have become the vine whisperer AND the vine executioner.

And maybe, just maybe, the creepers have become my metaphor for life.

Because let’s face it, creepers are everywhere.

The lingering thought spirals that wrap around your brain at 3 a.m.? Creepers.
The expectations that choke your creative spirit? Creepers.
That toxic committee meeting where the same old nonsense strangles any progress? Yup, bureaucratic creepers in khakis.

And what do creepers do best?
They look delicate. Romantic, even.
But they weigh things down, pull things sideways, and eventually collapse structures that were once solid and upright.

So now, armed with metaphorical shears, I’m in the business of snipping.

Snipping back the obligations that twist too tightly. Cutting through the guilt vines that overgrow when I dare to rest. Clearing space: mental, emotional, and spiritual   so that I  actually have room to stretch.

To untangle is to reclaim steadiness. To prune is to make space for air, sun, movement.
And, dare I say it, to be free.

So if you see me squinting at a tree from the highway or staring too intently at your backyard fence, don’t worry. I’m not judging your landscaping (okay, maybe a little). I’m just spotting creepers.

And planning their quiet, satisfying demise.