Tatty roses

Here it is the middle of winter and there are still roses in gardens… July. Roses. What is this? They are not the gorgeous blooms of spring and summer; they are holding on gamely to bushes that need pruning; they are mostly faded and tattered, even in bud. But still they are beautiful. Those blooms with scent still smell lovely. The colours are delicate and a bit muted perhaps. They are still there regardless of frost and the desire for dormancy.

They make me think of getting older and more worn myself, and seeing other older folk and people who have had lives that are difficult. We too have lost our youthful bloom. We’re a bit worn out, grey haired, figures gone to hell, arthritic, our faces lined, skin softer, eyes maybe see less well or are wiser/wary/worn. But still we are beautiful in our own way, like the roses; we bloom regardless of frosts and drought and cold winter weather; we’re alive alive-o…

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