Morning Glory

Flowers of May

There is no sun without shadow,

and it is essential to know the night.– Albert Camus

The night is about done. Mild air from the west steals along bringing with it a self-conscious sense of some profound moment in the making. From the patio, I can see sunrise bringing on the early light of day.

Sure enough, in no time at all, it starts to woo the morning glory to unravel. Morning Glory! Lyrical in itself and beautifully named. Sun Worshiper. Aurora’s Maid. Its florets burst forth into a cluster of jubilant blue, amethyst, periwinkle bells. They hang like a foil shimmer on dawning edge, taking on the pulse of wakening life.

Throughout the day, I watch this delightfully stunning purple bloom match the splendor of the steadily-climbing sun. Nothing has ever seemed more awake, more alive.

But soon everything will change. The sun smolders blood-red in finality, then flares out. Just as the maple trees cast lengthening shadows in the late afternoon sunlight, the morning glory will surrender all individuality and begin to merge into the shadowy mass.

Twilight silhouettes the rooftops. A few swirled stars come into view.

The long night has come again. It falls and keeps on falling.  

The purple posy curls its petals. 

Seized by a weirdly thrilling lethargy, it retreats in the cold earth-smelling dimness in a seeming state of hopelessness. Despite its best effort, its eyes close. Limp creeping tendrils hang in the soft air, balanced in some ethereal lull.  A small wind stirs the leaves.  Otherwise all is silent. The morning glory drifts into sleep.

Yet its heart keeps vigil, for it knows that darkness will fill its spirit with light.

It knows to wake up to a Celebration of Return in the morning after the Death of Night.