When I think of roses, I think of June weddings, kittens frolicking in the garden, and balmy summer evenings. I don’t tend to think of Indian Summer, apple pie, or the approach of fall.
Yet that’s exactly what I was thinking of when I found these roses (above, and below) in our garden last week.
Over the last two Indian Summers, I’ve noticed that we always get a few late-bloomers. It’s pretty startling to walk out of your house in a jacket, your breath fogging as it hits the air, and still see baby roses as you pass your flowerbeds.
While the other roses are dying on the vine, a few still dare to show their blooms. That takes considerable tenacity, courage and a marvelous disregard for the “order” of things—even for a flower.
How much more for a human being?
Over the years, I’ve begun to suspect I’m as late a bloomer…
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