It’s been a tough last couple of months around here, both communally
and personally, so when I walked out on to the back porch this morning to take
in my daily dose of sanity stabilizing, cold fresh air, I was greeted by the
most pleasant of surprises: the last rose of summer.
Not that it should have been a surprise at all; Z had
pointed it out to me, through the kitchen window, a few days before. My head
was just too full of distraction and the usual nonsense that makes up my daily
life to fully process what she was saying.
Z is always a few steps ahead of most people when it comes
to picking out these little gifts of nature, so, needless to say, Z is always miles
ahead of me.
But there it stood, on this cold November, post-Thanksgiving
morning, standing straight and tall; solitary, but proud.
While all its floral peers had long succumbed to frozen nights
and early snow, this fair weather holdout managed to hunker down, wait its turn
and blossom at the moment when it was most needed.
Sure, there were more impressive blooms throughout the
season; bunches upon bunches brightening up the garden.
But none, as welcome and appreciated as this single rose,
the last of a summer now long since passed.
It knew its season.
A season of one.
And amid the cold, dark world of inevitable winter still to
come, we’re all the brighter for it…today, much more than yesterday.
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"...floral peers." I love it!
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