Monday, November 12, 2012

Back to Craving the Rose

The walk to Grace's (Harold and Luigi always accompany) to pick out our bouquets. . .hand trimming the stems, arranging the flowers, choosing the right vases. . . I love the process as much as the presence of fresh flowers in a home. Flowers are reminders amidst objects of permanence of fragility and tenderness and endings; of poetry and beauty, of celebrations and apologies, of arrivals. . . and departures.

As petals fall and stems begin to wilt, I seek the survivor and place her in a single, bud vase - a vintage perfume bottle I found at a flea market.  

She's even more beautiful alone. 

For he that dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.
Anne Brontë


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