A walk around the yard, coffee in hand, I am drawn to the corner where the rose bush grows. I stop to count the buds. Tight nobs surrounded by green, waiting to open. Ready to show off. Thankfully, not all at once. There will be weeks of yellow flowers before the wind floats their delicate petals to their resting place below the thorns.
They are a reminder of how life takes us from one phase to another. Graduation from school. Promotion from one job to another. The flow of the seasons. Decades of life that is a journey from year to year. The doors that open and the doors that close.
They are a beautiful reminder of life.
The Yellow Rose
“What are her favourite flowers?"
"For the prom, M’am, I want to bring her a corsage.”
“Yellow roses.” Her Mother had told him.
A yellow rose, any yellow rose. A poignant reminder of her first love. She had been trying to grow them for decades. Thorns and leaves were the result of her nurturing.
“How have you been?”
That Yankee drawl she knew to be his, had been the reply when she answered the telephone.
He sat on the deck smiling, watching her tend the beautiful yellow blooms.
How did the roses know that they had found each other, again?
“What are her favourite flowers?"
"For the prom, M’am, I want to bring her a corsage.”
“Yellow roses.” Her Mother had told him.
A yellow rose, any yellow rose. A poignant reminder of her first love. She had been trying to grow them for decades. Thorns and leaves were the result of her nurturing.
“How have you been?”
That Yankee drawl she knew to be his, had been the reply when she answered the telephone.
He sat on the deck smiling, watching her tend the beautiful yellow blooms.
How did the roses know that they had found each other, again?
RSS Feed