The rose bush outside our front door is filled with huge rose blooms the size of my head. Most of them are delicate, fragile, soft, pale, light pink - absolutely gorgeous. It is almost as if the petals are translucent. The gentle bush is trying to outdo itself and I almost believe it is in honor of my Mother who liked flowers of all sorts (except for carnations which she said reminded her of a funeral home).
Last year the hand-sized roses nodded at shoulder height, but this year the branches have sprung up and the flowers are way over my head. They climb the side of the building up past the brick part and onto the white siding. Several of the canes sport nothing but lush greenery while the main branch, weighed down with multiple roses, struggles to stay upright. Another cane is peppered with buds tightly wrapped and hard like little green apples. If I am fortunate, I will have a summer of continual roses blooming beneath my bedroom window. Won't that be exquisite! How amazing for a bush that has been ignored and not manipulated in any way.
Last year the hand-sized roses nodded at shoulder height, but this year the branches have sprung up and the flowers are way over my head. They climb the side of the building up past the brick part and onto the white siding. Several of the canes sport nothing but lush greenery while the main branch, weighed down with multiple roses, struggles to stay upright. Another cane is peppered with buds tightly wrapped and hard like little green apples. If I am fortunate, I will have a summer of continual roses blooming beneath my bedroom window. Won't that be exquisite! How amazing for a bush that has been ignored and not manipulated in any way.
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