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Sam wiped the sleep from his eyes as he tottered out onto the porch. The mist was still creeping back into the tree line and the sun had only barely woken up. And a hum was coming from up the ladder.

Grandfather’s rusty, molasses voice drifted down from above the roofline. His hard-soled shoes were the last thing visible, sanding on the worn wood ladder as it leaned against the house. Sam wriggled though the rungs to get a better view. High above, Grandfather was trimming and arranging the ubiquitous morning glories. The gramophone flowers had much consumed the house in recent years.

“What song is that?”

Grandfather stopped, shifted to look below.

“Well, good morning Sam. What are you doing up?”

Sam shrugged, “What song is that?”

Grandfather laughed through a smoky cough.

“It’s an old, old one.”

“Is it your favorite?”

“I suppose,” Grandfather snipped a bit here and there, threw a noodley tendril to the ground.

“Why?” Sam hung about monkey-ish on edge of the porch.

“Well… I suppose… I suppose it’s because that’s the tune I danced to with Grandma for the first time.”


“Yep,” Grandfather climbed down the squeaking ladder.

“You and Grandma danced?”

“Oh, all the time, buddy,” Grandfather pocketed his little shears, “Why don’t we go in for breakfast before you get stuck in there for good?”

“Ok,” Sam untangled himself from the rungs, “Was she pretty?”


“Grandma, when you danced the first time.”

“Oh, very pretty,” Grandfather held the screen door open, “She wore blue dress with flowers all over it.”

“What kind?” Sam wiped his tiny feet on the welcome mat.

“Morning glories.”