The Morning Glory Hour

My father-in-law, who is from Kerala, wakes up at five every morning to sit on our back porch and watch the morning glories open.

When he first came to live with us, I thought it was a strange habit. One morning I couldn't sleep, so I joined him. He handed me a cup of cardamom tea without a word and pointed at the vine.

They opened slowly, one after another, unrolling like tiny blue umbrellas. It took about twenty minutes. Neither of us talked. A cardinal sang somewhere. The neighborhood was completely still.

When the last one opened, he smiled and said, "Every morning, the same, and every morning, new." Then he went in to make breakfast.

I join him most mornings now. I've started to think he's the wisest person I know.