August's flower

August's Flower


I planted a pot of morning glories near the front window
I wanted to be able to sit there in late summer, listen to the summer bugs sing
and have their blue and white blooms crawl up the side of the house
on a trellis because a garden feels more like a garden with a trellis

I have been watching them grow those little seedlings
into the heart shaped green leaves spilling out of the pot
but the miracle in all this talk of the glories of the new day
is in the tendril not in the flower
Those tendrils curl out from under the plant and they wait and wait
they wait for a wind strong enough to blow their sticky fingers
onto the trellis so they have something to hold on to
somewhere to climb
something of strength
to compliment that tender twirl of living thing

Without the strength of the wooden earth ladder
this pot of leaves would spill out onto the ground
and nobody could see them from the street
and I couldn't see them from my favorite chair
in my favorite window where the kittens like to keep guard for squirrels
so the trellis is their spine, unattached but part of it
not alive but holding life allowing it to flourish

How do you tell a trellis that it is nothing but wood
if it were not for the bravery of that tiny tendril of curled sticky love?
How do you point to the blooms and tell him
"If it were not for that blossom you'd be kindle"
Sometimes strength bears a curious hubris
and in nature's child-like soothsayer ability
she points out the obvious that beauty will always inspire
that strength is only as good as the beauty that leans into it
crawls up its leg and rests on it's shoulder, unafraid
and ultimately unashamed


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I was missing my friend Jay this morning and he introduced me to Nina. When she sings in french it will steal your heart. Today is a quiet summer day and the perfect time for a little Nina in the garden.