The Offline Mind

One week ago I planted morning glories. Four to six weeks before the last frost for early blooms, the little envelope said. Six wetted seeds lay soaking overnight, dreaming of a trellis, and were then each placed one centimetre deep in cheap dollar store soil. A week later and five have crept up to reveal alien hands unfurling, reaching for a phantom wrung, their babyish folds crackling open along their stems. This morning I poked around the soil for the sixth seed. When I saw it’s swan neck still buried and pink I helped it along with my finger cooing “there we are, there we are”. Saved but exposed now, we hung our long necks side by side. Perhaps I planted you one centimetre too deep, I said. Perhaps I’ve done the same to myself.