Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas.

It says "...freedom of...", not "...freedom from...".

Nolite te bastardes carburundorum!

"It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness. People need to be fed, medicated, educated, clothed, and sheltered, and if we're compassionate we'll help them, but you get no moral credit for forcing other people to do what you think is right. There is great joy in helping people, but no joy in doing it at gunpoint." - Penn Jillette

Monday, June 22, 2009

Morning Glories

I wrote this last week, but needed to edit a few things for the blog. It was for a friend...but I like it well enough to post it here and hope he won't mind terribly my sharing...
~~~~~

I woke one morning last week with a head full of happy thoughts and a body only slightly dinged, dented, and knocked about by the Evil Genius (we were staying at a motel and had to share a bed).

I woke, too, thinking of the morning glories, the pale blue, the deeper blue, and the dark, velvet purple ones that climb my front porch.

They start out at once hesitant and determined, fragile, heart-shaped leaved poking upward from the soil. A cold snap, a strong wind, a carelessly placed foot, and they are devastated, but they don't concern themselves with such matters. They are too busy growing.

They strive upward, seeking the light, the heat, the blessing of the sun's presence in their days. Inch by inch, undeterred by obstacles, they climb, their goal to finally reach him,wrap him in their vine-y embrace, cling to him while they bloom.

Up, then, they go, inch by inch, these morning glories, until they have no trellis, no porch rail, nothing left to bear them up. As they journey, they begin to change, to strengthen - from slender tendrils to hearty vines, they gain themselves. Buds begin to appear, popping forth almost audibly, nestled among the sheltering leaves.

Thirsty, they gladly drink in the rain, the dew, any water that blesses them with its cool presence.

The buds are tight, swollen, wrapped tightly around themselves, showing nothing of what lies within. Almost shy, they are waiting for some unseen signal, for that moment when they will burst, unrestrained, and blossom, greeting the sun with a shout of joy and a blaze of color.

I know...I think I know...just how they feel.

2 comments:

HermitJim said...

Very beautiful piece...I ejoyed it!

Kyddryn said...

Thank you, Mister Hermit, Sir - glad you popped in!