Landscape of the Heart: Passiflora

It is freezing cold, for Sarasota. It has rained for two and a half days, also a bit unusual at this time of year. Altogether it has felt more like November on the northwest coast of Ireland than December on the Gulf Coast of Florida. Understandably, then, I was surprised when I opened the door to water the cats, heard my passion vine shout for my attention, and saw it exhaling violet light through the general gray of the day.

This was not the first flower. That trophy came with the nursery vine and proved to be an unexpected and rather exquisite Passiflora variety. Today's blossom came into being in my soil; it is a product of me.

I have waited and watched many months for my vine to show an interest in its world. During that time, it has appeared largely dormant. I have studied it occasionally, and tended it even less. My patience with its refusal to show its purple self has been thin, yet tolerant with a glaze of gardener's acceptance.

Today, my passionflower vine shows the world and me an instance of existence on and in the world. It is alive, cold, and determined to bloom again. I wonder only if it is cognizant of the two vine roots that were pulled, completely and utterly dead. Does it remember its missing two thirds, mourn and push forward despite the loss? Did they sacrifice themselves, falling on their perennial swords in the best interest of the most likely to succeed? Did it kill two rivals with malice aforethought? Or is it herbaceously oblivious to the fate of its neighbors, aware only of its own need to move on down the fence, stopping only to dedicate a few spiral cells as strategically placed, tightly twisted grips on the surface of its latticed planet?

It is, I know, deeply focused on its grip. It shows no more blooms or buds, only survival. I believe that in a very short time, it will stop, hear nothing chasing or competing for the space it wants, and feel the sun. And it will remember, if nothing else, that its highest and best purpose is passion.

The next Passiflora display will not be an easy post-transplant victory. It will be the product of having dug roots into alien territory, and having leached lean nutrients from sandy soil. The passion flowers that explode after the cold, dark night of the vine's soul will not only be joyously glorious, they will bleed passion with beauty and benevolence aforethought.