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A Rose in September
Sep. 4th, 2006 04:19 pmThat needs to be the title of a piece of literature, don't you think? Story of my writing life: either I have a title with no story or a story with no title. Anyway . . .
Today being Labor Day and a day off for George, we've been doing yard work. We have two large pine trees in the back yard. In the ten years we've lived in this house, those trees have grown in such a way as to not only provide a way for raccoons to nest in our neighbor's attic, but also to cover most of our yard in shade. During the course of ten years, this shade in turn ended up killing most of the rose bushes that were in the yard when we moved in. And we had some lovely roses. I'm most disappointed that we lost the Mr. Lincoln bush--rich red roses, the thick petals of which felt like velvet, and a rich, deep fragrance to match. Then there was the pink rose bush, a Queen Elizabeth, I think, which was such a classic "rose" fragrance, and so pretty. We had a light purple bush that I swear the blooms smelled like oranges, and we had what I called a peppermint bush, the blossoms of which were red and white striped. And the yellow roses. I love yellow roses. I can't really say why, but I do.
But over the years, most of our rose bushes died from lack of sunlight and lack of care on our part. We still have our climbers, but if you blink, you miss their bloom.
Anyway, a few weeks ago, we got one of the pine trees cut way back so as to prevent the raccoons from returning to our neighbor's attic. This opened up the yard to much more sunlight than it's gotten in a long time.
And today, I found a rose bud on the white bush, I think it's a Princess Anne? Queen Anne? Something like that. Just a tiny little bud, not even opened yet, but there all the same. With fresh leaves, on a bush that I was sure was dead. But every year it tries to bloom. And every year I think it's going to be it's last. And here it is again.
There's a life metaphor in there somewhere, I'm sure.
Today being Labor Day and a day off for George, we've been doing yard work. We have two large pine trees in the back yard. In the ten years we've lived in this house, those trees have grown in such a way as to not only provide a way for raccoons to nest in our neighbor's attic, but also to cover most of our yard in shade. During the course of ten years, this shade in turn ended up killing most of the rose bushes that were in the yard when we moved in. And we had some lovely roses. I'm most disappointed that we lost the Mr. Lincoln bush--rich red roses, the thick petals of which felt like velvet, and a rich, deep fragrance to match. Then there was the pink rose bush, a Queen Elizabeth, I think, which was such a classic "rose" fragrance, and so pretty. We had a light purple bush that I swear the blooms smelled like oranges, and we had what I called a peppermint bush, the blossoms of which were red and white striped. And the yellow roses. I love yellow roses. I can't really say why, but I do.
But over the years, most of our rose bushes died from lack of sunlight and lack of care on our part. We still have our climbers, but if you blink, you miss their bloom.
Anyway, a few weeks ago, we got one of the pine trees cut way back so as to prevent the raccoons from returning to our neighbor's attic. This opened up the yard to much more sunlight than it's gotten in a long time.
And today, I found a rose bud on the white bush, I think it's a Princess Anne? Queen Anne? Something like that. Just a tiny little bud, not even opened yet, but there all the same. With fresh leaves, on a bush that I was sure was dead. But every year it tries to bloom. And every year I think it's going to be it's last. And here it is again.
There's a life metaphor in there somewhere, I'm sure.
