Do you remember how I told you about the Morning Glory seeds that I'd planted in a pot on the window-sill?
Do you remember the struggling seedlings . . . and my grandiose dreams . . . ?
Well . . . all on their own, they did it! I claim not an ounce of credit. How could a mere mortal claim credit for such ethereal beauty?
I now understand why they're known as Morning Glory. Each bloom lasts for no longer than a few hours. They open in the morning and, by the afternoon, they are already on the wane.
But . . . oh, what glorious, breath-taking (albeit brief) lives they live!
That's enough from me . . . now, sit back and enjoy . . .
See what I mean . . . ?
And another one . . .
How could mere words have done justice to that . . . ?
