What's Your Story, Morning Glory?

A lovely pleasant warm day. Something magical and timeless about our walk through the neighborhood that made it feel like a holiday, quiet and special. We spent a lot of time at this clump of vines, trying to figure out the flowering pattern--do they start out pink and turn purple, or vice versa? or are some only pink and some purple? The buds are tightly curled in the most efficient way, like good cigars.

I've been thinking a lot about our Thanksgiving holiday, where we are obligated to eat too much and then proudly grumble about it later. Nowadays, apparently, it is also traditional (meaning it happened once before, or perhaps meaning merely that you intend to do it again) to over-shop as well. Reading accounts of bargain-hunting is frightening--people attack each other as they wait for doors to open, people are shot in arguments over parking spaces, people camp out for days in parking lots before the sales are to start, people glut themselves silly on big screen tvs and plastic toys. It's not that this is such big news, it's just sobering and worrisome and embarrassing, the result of too much pondering and too much pie.