A Delicate Rose
Rosie #despair #hope
From the moment I entered this world, my parents knew I was a delicate rose.
I was the first flower they planted on their own, and although their parents didn’t teach them to garden, they did their best to gently tend to the growing thickets of the rose bush they so thoughtfully sowed.
As I grew throughout the changing season, I did my best to weather the storms that constantly plundered through the garden.
They did everything they could to keep me growing safe and sheltered from the storms, but even a greenhouse can shatter with strong enough winds, and they knew that the most resilient flowers bloomed in the open air.
When I did begin to bloom, many stopped for a minute to marvel at the beautiful blossoms I had finally grown and maybe snip a few off for themselves. But when they got closer and felt my thorns, they decided a softer flower might be better to take home and keep around their loved ones.
And who could blame them? At least a lily doesn’t cut you when you try to hold it close.
I spend my days staring longingly across the garden at the delphiniums, the daffodils, the daisies, and the bluebells all side by side, no thorns… no aphids…just happily coexisting.
Every once and a while someone decides to try and make it through the thorns so they can add the romantic rose to their bouquet…
A rose cut off from its bush dies quickly, but even if my blossoms wilt away in a vase, or are trampled into the dirt by a forlorned lover, I’m happy when someone chooses to cherish them even for a moment.
It’s easy to assume that because a rose has thorns we aren’t delicate, but even the prickliest plants will wither without water.
Sometimes during a long period of shade, a drought, or another storm, parts of my body begin to decay…but a well tended rose bush has the resilience to come out of dormancy and create new blossoms, even after the harshest winter.
The beauty of a flower is that we are ephemeral… we all must die eventually, but the seeds that we leave behind in the earth stay for generations and the garden will continue to grow.
I’m a delicate rose, but I’m learning to tend my own garden.