What can I say? I love the rose's petals and colors - I think of all my flower pictures, this kind is my favorite. The image, though, doesn't serve the real rose justice - online photos seem to lose something in the translation, I've noted. Perhaps it's my own conversion. I'll figure it out.
In the meantime, let me tell you about my roses. Last year we planted a goodly number of bushes and with little work, they've been producing the most amazing flowers. I can't quite capture their prettiness, their brilliance. Growing up, my parents used to have a set of roses along the front of the house - my brother, sister and I played so much around these flowers. The flowers are in so many pictures. I've come to associate the roses...with my childhood. With my mother. I remember seeing her many times, picking one of those roses with her bare fingers, sticking it behind her ear, and puckering her lips into my father's camera. I see the flower and I see my mother - beautiful, with blood-inducing thorns.
Hmmm...another story for another time. I'll never be as beautiful as she was, but at times, I think I have those thorns.
Ahh...it's late, I have work to do. I'd rather dream. 'Tis a lovely, quiet evening in our house. My favorite kind of night.