A tall unpruned rose grows in a corner of my garden. It’s tucked into an area that’s already somewhat crowded, competing with the night blooming jasmine on the wall alongside the honey suckle that spills over the top of it. And then right there in close fellowship with the others is the brightly colored Bougainvillea crowning the whole display. If any of these head turners were properly trimmed they would not be so stunning.
Who shines brightest when there’s so much brilliance, color and fragrance growing freely in one relatively small space?
For me it’s this one glorious rose.
Because it lives in a cramped corner of my garden it has grown taller to seek out the sun. It’s height has allowed it to stand above the others as the beauty that it is. She stands alone in a category all by herself. Having sought out the sun that made her fragrant, turning her red velvet to the deepest shade, she has risen to her current place of prominence.
But then rain. Necessary rain. This time dear rain didn’t come alone, it brought a windy friend along. She’s a strong one that gal. The two of them had a marvelous time in my garden and except for a small patch of green onions, which were fairly pummeled, all the other residents fared well.
As will happen naturally to anyone with their hands raised upwards to receive, in the rose’s case to soak up the sun, she also received the unexpected. Her cup-like blossom filled up with the rain and she bent under the weight of it. It sounds so poetic and yet it’s exactly what happened.
I would love to hear your own inner thoughts on this. Please contemplate and comment to continue this true story.