Good Morning, Morning
AND GLORIES AND LITTLE SHARDS OF BROKEN BLUE GLASS
There are these pretty morning glories that open every morning outside my studio. When I get there early enough I see them but they are morning glories and so if I get there later they are gone; folded up;shyly retreating for the day. I get that. I love the mornings and open up. then I retreat. Call me in the morning and I am open. later I am waning and unfocused. i am a morning glory perhaps. I like that – I am keeping that.
The morning glories are really beautiful. My landlord planted them. It is all so logical. People do not wonder if I plant them; they know that the landlord planted them. I wish I could say that I made them, like mother nature. The squirrels run along the fence and eat them, right in front of me. Sometimes I shoo them away but the squirrels kinda know that I don’t mind them and sometimes they walk right up to me and look at me. It’s good that the squirrels prune the morning glories. i made a whole fridge of morning glories. I call it the Morning Glory Fridge. The squirrels are not much afraid of me. They are right to not be afraid of me. The squirrels don’t eat them when they are in bloom; the squirrels only eat them when they have closed up again. I don’t get that. Maybe they are better to eat when they are somewhat compacted, rather than when they are fully open. Like cotton candy vs. gummy bears. Less work to get more of the goods due to their compactedness.
These are also shards of broken cobalt blue glass in the garden, on the gravelly part. They would be pretty in a clear glass vase perhaps. A traditional mosaic artist might make them into a pretty traditionally-mosaiced frame or such. Just a guess. They appeared in the garden one day – strewn all over the stones. I asked the building manager if someone broke something and forgot to pick up the pieces. My first question is probably like most peoples’ first question might be, for often I think like most peoples. The building manager told me that the landlord found 5 buckets full of this broken blue glass that a previous tenant had left behind in a storage nook. I thought – well, I am glad I don’t have a dog with cute little paws that might be hurt or cut by these pretty shards of broken blue glass that would look quite lovely in a clear glass vase or some such traditionally mosaiced thing. I hoped (and continue to hope) that people’s dogs would not get hurt. This did not seem a logical way to decorate. The morning glories seem logical. The two things are similar in color but different in logicality.
Over time I got used to seeing these little shardy broken pieces of glass. I don’t ever walk barefoot in the garden and after the arrival of the pretty but dangerous shards of broken cobalt glass I thought – well, I’ll not start walking in the garden barefoot now. I got used to these shards and stopped consciously thinking about them.
But then yesterday a person from the building with a sweet dog with little paws and paw pads that might get hurt or cut was in the garden at the same time that I was. She made sure to steer her dog away from the broken glass because she loves her dog (it is a very sweet dog) and asked, “Did you drop some of your broken glass?” Oh dear, I thought. I am the person in the building who works in broken glass. I don’t use anything but tempered glass but people don’t know that. It’d never occur to me to sprinkle shards of pretty blue broken glass in the garden to “decorate” it. It never would occur to me that anyone would “decorate” any garden in such a way; like prancing gleefully about, sprinkling dangerous blue fairy dust (shards) all over the garden, for all to see and wonder at this decorating ability and marvel at how creative I am. No. I’d not never ever do that.
So I thought about sending an email to the whole building for now I am worried that everyone else thinks I did the broken glass scattering and sprinkling in my fairy outfit. But people are generally annoyed by mass emails. So I made a sign. I hope people will realize it’s not me. But the people in my building, once they hear the story, will not have trouble believing that I am not responsible for sprinkling the pretty broken glass.
I don’t even think it’s pretty. I think it’s ridiculous. I am neurotic. I am not ridiculous. Maybe I will make an anonymous blog about these sorts of antics. It will be logically anonymous. I have logic.