Grandma liked efficiency. She might get a chuckle or two in heaven over the fact that she inspired me to grow roses. While she loved her garden, as she got older and was unable to tend it, she was known to stick clusters of plastic geraniums in the front beds to cheer the place up. The neighbors never knew they were plastic until snow began to fall and the geraniums were still as bold and perky as ever. And so I sent flowers, Huge bouquets.
Flowers only die.
But on that May Sunday, Heaven made her smile. A tossed afghan of multicolored blooms. In a place Where butterflies dance Above velvet petals. Brazen as fire in the face of dark skies they remain, resilient, as unmerciful winds and rains make roses shed their soft petals. Enchanting, but feisty, they confront the relentless summer sun, and hold on to mock the trees that shed their leaves in Fall.