Morning glories have come to signify the inevitable arrival of fall, no matter how far away it may actually be. Yes, I said the f-word, and it’s no longer something to be feared. In fact, as I approach my 49th year on earth I am faced with the irrevocable realization that I have, hopefully, moved into the autumn era of my life. I say hopefully because if I don’t make it to a ripe old age I may have been living in winter and just not have realized it in time. There’s something deeper in that than I care to analyze right at this moment – it’s enough just hinting at the fall of one’s life.
Back to the morning glory. It is the old-fashioned blue variety that I have always favored, and of course that’s the variety that hasn’t grown for me. Instead these powerhouse pops of strident color, what everyone thinks embodies me, have been reseeding and creeping into the garden no matter how many times I pull them out. When they surprise me with a late-season bloom, I’m usually glad a few get through.
Looking deeper into the glowing throat of a bloom, I glimpse a bit of the fall… and a glimpse of the future.
