Morning Glory

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Morning Glory.

You know the one, delicate green vines with a dainty appearance that are a contradiction to it’s tenacious and insidious nature? The tender white blossoms like the innocent twirl of a bride’s gown, innocuous and dangerous as a spider’s web?

Creeping with a shy smile on the forest floor, tip-toeing among the ferns with sweet stealth, stalking the tree trunks with a selfish want. Stealing the height it could never attain on it’s own by feeding upon the glory of another. So slick and tenderly does it wrap loving arms about the rough skin of an Oak, like a snake in the grass, with silent promise of the inevitable.

You meet a few people like that, the beautiful Morning Glories of your wandering wood. They creep in softly with a smile and a whisper, coaxing and sly with their soft endearments, only to envelope you in the tendrils of their wanting and choke the life from your pursuit of freedom.

Yes, all sorts of unexpected blooms and verdant epiphanies can be found in the great wilderness of life, I ponder these things as I gaze at the graceful sway of this deceptive flower, and wonder that bees still dare to come pollinate her.

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