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THE MORNING GLORY AND THE ROSE
What
if, in spite of an untimely freeze, the morning glory opened early to the sun
as she does customarily, never mind the chill at midnight, heedless of the wintry
sting at five or six o’clock a.m.? Dawn catches her unfurling eagerly to drink
the first fresh pink and orange beams, the sweetest in their purity. Some will think
her reckless; she knows better, as do we.
Elsewhere
in the garden there are blossoms reticent to show themselves for dread of
frostbite, wrapped in all their fragile petal layers, holding tightly to them
for protection. Nature, I suppose, possesses wisdom and experience beyond my
own; she knows what she’s about.
The
rose, perhaps, must cautiously keep watch, his vulnerable core intolerant of icy
blasts late in the season. He would ask the April air to mitigate itself in
ways felicitous to roses, thus assuredly to demonstrate his gorgeous geometrical
array in safety come mid-May. All well and good, I say, for roses.
I
would rather imitate the morning glory, braving every sort of wind to hear the
stories each arrives relating from the corners of the earth by way of raucous
shouting or of sibilance; besides, her beauty is the kind that shows to best
advantage when in motion, nodding, tossing, spinning with her sisters in a
feral dance that might caress the grass or reach aspiring to the sky.
At
last, if I were she, happily would I draw back as shadows lengthen, sagging in
the heaviness of afternoon. She makes a virtue of necessity, giving place to let
the rose command attention in the quiet of a summer evening, when the wind’s
remaining energy ascends in gentle currents to the canopy; it loves to tease
the drowsy cottonwood and maple leaves before the groves and gardens sleep.
Then
the morning glory -- blissfully exhausted and perhaps, if flowers are at all
contemplative, a little pensive -- lets her bright blue dress go limp and drab
and, in her self-imposed seclusion inconspicuous, collapses gratefully and
rests, the better to embrace tomorrow for all the difference it makes.
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