Farewell

I guess there must be such a thing as a fall rose. This morning I was greeted by beautiful blooms from that same rose bush by the corner of my house that has been so prolific in the summer. I had thought that final rose that appeared at the end of summer would be the last flower for the season, but today I discover not only 2 fully open flowers, but a handful of buds waiting their turn. It is a veritable fireworks display of rosery.

These flowers are even more beautiful than the ones I have enjoyed all summer long. They remind me of the bipolar rose I discovered because the colors are intense, then delicate, then rich, then fragile.

Perhaps they are blooming so beautifully so late because the woman who planted them spent the weekend packing up her belongings and moving. She will not be with us next year. Her daughter took a job in California to be near her boyfriend, and she has found a new love of her life and now that her daughter is gone, she is free to move in with him.

I will miss her quiet gentle smile, her precision in laundry details, her tiny purse sized dog, her lazy window cats, her skill with the flowers about our building. We never got close, but had a number of "over the backyard fence" kind of neighbor chats where you cover a multitude of subjects intensely, then part with a smile.

She was recovering from a broken heart the first year I moved in. So much fallout from divorces. She nursed her wound well, regained her composure and confidence, and didn't wait too long to wade back in. Bravo for her. And the roses are a fitting farewell gesture for the brave woman who nurtured them, the bold summer that encouraged their growth and the blue skies that soon will turn gray. Farewell, one and all.