Morning Glories open themselves up to the world, in the morning,
in all of their glory, hence the name Morning Glory.
And if you look closely at them, you will see how extraordinary
they are both in colour and texture and that in their centre is
a kind of golden light that shines from within.
But here is the hard part…
At the end of the day, they turn a most beautiful shade of lavender,
and then close up, wither and die. They live for only one day
and then they are gone.
(from The Lesson of the Morning Glory, by Veronica Hay)
This may mean nothing to anyone else but me. This is my house. This looks like trash in front of my house. I assure you, it’s not. Just when I think I’m ready to start again, or move on or whatever people say you should do, something else in my house breaks…or something reminds me of my past life…and while most people by now have made big changes, I seem stuck in mourning yet another part of my previous existence. Today was one of those days.
A few weeks ago, my fence blew down during that big storm, and with it, the very vine you are looking at. Twelve ago, we put up morning glory on an 8 foot piece of lattice, all the way around our pool area. We put in 3 vines. Within a year, the whole fence and yard was covered in morning glory. The vine went everywhere…into neighbors’ yards, over fences. I could see the morning glory three houses down.
Last week when it fell down, and the dogs went out of the yard, and the pool was a mess and the cement was a nightmare, I could not deal with this morning glory. I finally got someone to come and take down the lattice, and the morning glory with it. In the winter, it looks like this…always…but in the summer, it is glorious.
So I came up to my house last night, and saw the pile in front of my house, and because I tend to look at everything in terms of endings, I immediately fell sorrow. Because this is the protection my yard has from the outside world, from the neighbors’ eyes, from noises everywhere.
Again with the maudlin review of everything in my house, but the death of this plant surely must signify something. We planted it before there were children. Before we thought we could. Three plants, took over. I swam in front of the moon and the plant, and cried and laughed. I gave my kids countless popsicles, pondered my life in love with someone else, crying out in the black night for God or whoever is running the universe to hear me. The Purple Hood, shielding me and giving me comfort and anonymity.
Now, my fence stands naked and broken. Propped up with some metal stakes, 2 feet shorter, blonded wood that I haven’t seen for a long time. Just one side of it.
So, there must be some sort of requiem for the Morning Glory. To anyone else, it looks like refuse that the city will pick up in a few days. To me, it’s yet another piece of the history of my family, and oh. If it could talk…
*Lyric from Sounds of Silence