Summer is over, and the garden which has cheered us all season looks depressingly bedraggled. Whether it’s the vegetable patch or the flower bed, it’s mostly gone. It’s weedy, overgrown, messy and, furthermore, someone is going to have to cut it back, pull out the withered vines, clean it up. But there are still morning glories. In the low morning sunlight they look like scraps torn from the sky. Others can rave about their hardy mums – you can have them by the bushel at the supermarket – but the morning glory can’t be sold or bought or cut or carried away. Its glorious shades of blue are evanescent and the flower itself is gone before the day is done.