the language of flowers

Morning Glories, gifts resulting from bird dropped or wind blown seeds, were spots of vivid color demanding my attention as I rolled my empty trash can alongside the house to the backyard. My heart stirred to the beginning notes of a song without lyrics, but whose melody proclaimed I am loved. I am seen.

Next I noticed that my wild begonias, generously shared by my neighbor a few years ago, are blooming at the feet of the morning glories intertwined with the night flowering jasmine vine that has been part of my yard since before it was my yard and I could feel the harmony begin to build.

This afternoon, as I was enjoying lunch on the porch I noticed a few tiny white flowers from the jasmine blooming, and knowing that soon their sweet scent will perfume the air increased the intensity of the love song.

 

On a whim I googled night flowering jasmine. The photos that popped up are not the same plant. So I searched all jasmine vines. None of them matched. I asked Siri to show me photos of flowers like jasmine. There are actually plants classified as "false jasmine". Still nada. How could the man we bought the house from have been wrong about the plant's identity?

I remembered the scan option on an Amazon app I downloaded to check the cost of books. Took a chance and scanned the vine. I was rewarded with the correct name, and this evening the crooning continues. How appropriate and timely it was to find out that I have a Fall Blooming Love Vine.