A Morning Glory blooms for a single day. Furled and quiet for days, until one sunrise it ups and blooms. Its deep purple beauty springs alive. Its beauty celebrates the glory a new day. The sun wakens a bloom. The sweet magic powers of gardens and new blooms.
The next morning the bloom is a dried husk and another flower blooms. It whispers the brevity of life, that our lives are but a single day and shows the continued life of the plant and of the species. One new bloom to the next is a continuity of blooming. The plant may bloom every day for a season, then repeat it next season. The morning glory is a celebration of life’s persistent renewal.
Flights of fancy are good as a cup of coffee. Better!! It is play. This morning that morning glory was part of my waking up. It is unusual for me to happen upon the morning in a way such as this. We all have usual ways of waking up every day. Sometimes we notice it, that we are there, and may have a little narrative and judgment about our being there, awakening in the morning to a new day. And we usually awaken with anticipation: purpose, a call to duty, things to do; pleasures and worries may return.
We may remember who we are and that we are here, just awakened into the new day and immediately get back into the pull of time. It’s so natural to lose oneself in the pull and time and for reflection to sometimes notice it. To lose oneself and find oneself in a morning bloom: for a moment this morning I lost myself in a flower my wife had put on a stand on back deck. Then, I was back in the swing of the day, thinking about the patients I will be seeing, the blog entry I plan to write…