As the calendar flips to August 25th, 2025, I find myself in that familiar, yet always exciting, transition period in my garden. The peak of summer is starting to wane, and a different kind of magic begins to unfold. For me, this shift is most beautifully announced by the arrival of my moonflowers.
I’ve cultivated moonflowers (Ipomoea alba) for years, and they’ve become more than just a beautiful plant in my garden; they’re a personal barometer for the changing seasons. There’s something incredibly special about these flowers. Unlike their daytime counterparts, like morning glories, moonflowers unfurl their large, trumpet-shaped blossoms only after the sun dips below the horizon. They open in the cool evening air, often filling the twilight with a delicate, sweet fragrance.
Watching them bloom is a nightly ritual for me. I’ll often step out onto the porch with a cup of tea, just as the last rays of sunlight fade, to see which buds have decided to open. Each bloom is a surprise, a white beacon against the darkening landscape. They are truly a sign that summer’s intense heat is giving way, and a cooler, gentler season is on its way.
This year, my moonflowers are climbing up the trellis I built near the back patio. The vines are lush and full, a testament to the warm, sunny days we’ve had. Now, the buds are swelling, and I can sense the anticipation in the air – the same anticipation I feel for the crisp mornings and cozy evenings that fall promises.
Moonflowers thrive in heat and need full sun during the day to produce their abundant nighttime blooms. They’re relatively easy to grow from seed, and once they get going, they can produce a spectacular show. They remind me that not all beauty is loud or immediate; some of the most captivating displays happen quietly, in the dark, for those who take the time to look.
There’s a quiet joy in witnessing this cycle. It’s a reminder to slow down, to appreciate the subtle shifts, and to find beauty in the unexpected. As the days grow shorter and the nights cooler, my moonflowers will continue to open, their ethereal blooms a comforting signal that fall is indeed on its way. It’s a personal tradition that deepens my connection to the garden and the rhythm of the year.