Today I put my roses down for the winter, tucked them in tight and wished them pleasant dreams for the next few months. They smiled hope, like a child does who was just tucked in by her father. She looks up in sweet innocence (as a rose would), is given a tender kiss on the forehead, one more check to see if the blankets are tight enough, an "I love you," and then the chain to the lamp is pulled and the lights go out...goodnight sweetheart. How I loved to be tucked in as a child.
As I gave my roses a bedding of straw, I thought of Monet. I imagined that I was creating a painting, maybe one of his paintings, as I tucked my roses in. And I wondered...why are we so drawn to stacks and bales of hay and straw? What is it about the mounds of gold that uniformly line the fields of Autumn time? I don't have an answer, except to say that that vista calms me and settles me.
My stacks were not quite this poetic.
Ooh, I love your imagery. I also love the roses in my backyard (that I inherited when we bought this house)--but had no idea I was supposed to do anything to winterize them?!>? Help! :)
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