Gardenia's

I walked slowly down each aisle. The many petals open, worshiping the sun, danced in the light breeze that came off the mountains. Outside in the open air of the nursery I breathed in the mingled scents that emanated from all the greenery around me. Rows of passion red, dusky lavender, and blush pink flowers looked up at me as if saying, "Take me home! Take me home!"

I lingered a moment in front of the morning glory's and smiled. The memory of summer mornings on my grandma's porch came to mind. The air smelled like the coming heat, musky, with a hint of freshness as the morning glory's and coral vine that covered the outside of her house opened, and were able to breathe a breath of fresh air, like the rest of us, before the heavy heat set in.

"Mira," my grandma would say, "te estan diciendo buenos dias."

I didn't know then that after a morning glory blooms it dies. Looking down at them I remembered those mornings before school, my grandma, and her house.

I looked up around searching for the green plant I had come for. I moved on to the shrubs and looked for the leaves I'd recognize. Mid-aisle below the hanging baskets of red peonies I saw it; the gardenia's. I looked at them carefully, thinking, "Which one Ita?" I touched the flimsy black plastic holders waiting for something to say, "This one," when my hand landed on one that was medium sized, but with one long branch pointing in my direction. It was not blooming yet, but I knew that it soon would. The buds were still tightly clinging to its tiny white center. Carefully I placed it in the cart. It was going home.