My Mother's Day roses are blooming.
This gardener who has planted and tended and coddled since I was single digits, has never had roses.
So my joy is a bit intense. The velvety layers of ruffles….
…the gentle curves….
…the hidden creases….detail only brought to to me by a camera's lens.
They are just starting to bloom now, as August's light changes…as shadows become long,
and nights become cool.
They are rebels in the gardening world. Rebelling against nature's
Bucking the seasonal bronco.
I think that's why I am so consumed by them...
…because I too am rebelling….fighting the changes that inevitably occur next week.
I cannot hold back the tear that slips across this freckled cheek.
Nor do I want to.
For it is this mama's way of protesting the inescapable.
How I have absorbed every moment of this summer. Every smile, every grumpy morning face, every request for a snack or drink or cuddle or ride. Every early morning walk with my husband, every big eyed pug green bean plea.
I will approach my 23rd year teaching with grace….
….but will take this bouquet with me.