Wisteria days

I have a lot of work to do in my yard, but even so, the plants I have put in and that were here before I bought this house give me flowers for much of the spring. You can fit a lot of greenery and color into an urban lot (my property, 0.12 acre — that's only one-eighth of an acre — is 55 feet wide by 100 feet deep, but the driveway takes up about 7 feet of that width all the way up the south side of my property front to back).
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Crocuses, which were here before me, come up early, followed by daffodils and hyacinths that I planted, then tulips and azaleas I planted, and, before those blooms fade, wisteria, which was here before me and runs all over my yard, from the rear retaining wall to the fence between my small front and side yards, and up onto the wrought-iron supports for my porch roof. Oddly, however, last year's showy display on the fence between my back yard and the 4-family house nextdoor didn't come up this year. I don't think I cut it back, but it's not there this year. Instead, the vines are climbing a tree toward the back of my property, so I anticipate a showy display there next year. It has already climbed into the branches of the trees nextdoor, but the blooms are too high to make a good picture. The human eye perceives plainly some things that a camera cannot do justice.
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Here is the wisteria on my porch. To its left is the trunk of an oak tree covered in English ivy. Beyond is the single-family house on the other side of my property. The wisteria is taking over that side of the porch, and I must cut it back because some of its vines are wrapping around my wrought-iron bench, and any breeze would likely push loose vines into the face of anyone sitting on that bench (which is beyond the frame of this picture, to the lower right).

Now, a view from my driveway of the clump of blooms on the wrought-iron fence that demarks my front yard.

This is a very big, and very good, change from the apartment living I suffered for 35 years in Manhattan.