Walt Whitman, "A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books."

Their name is that of my actual grandfather, for whom Ears is named. And as lovely as the tiny blooms are, glowing in the center of deep violet velvet, it is their tendril that makes them special. It is thinner than a standard tendril, more like curly hair than vines. And they will kill any plant that tries to shade them out by wrapping around and squeezing - think strangulation with a piano wire. They look so delicate, and they are, but also damn near impossible to win a fight with let alone to kill. It'd be better to make peace with them, if you can.