Morning glory vines have overtaken my backyard this summer. They are deceptively beautiful, with their lush greenery and scattering of delicate trumpet flowers creeping up the deck railings, thin tendrils reaching out to embrace the legs of the grill. The morning glory grows with startling virility. If the dog stood for too long within its reach, I might have to tear the vines from her legs.
But in truth, the morning glory is a lie. It is a noxious weed. If I allow it to spread, it will kill everything beneath it.
For fans of metaphors, the morning glory is 2020.