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The Billowing Rose...

As I stare out my window and watch the howling wind batter the unyielding strength of the trees, a rosegarden outside my door takes the brunt of nature's bitter winter in all it's vulnerability. While the petals float one by one from the buds where they once bloomed, only a short time ago, they hold on with all the dignity they can muster in their casting off to a place of degredation, one where beauty has no place, one where death and deterioration soon await them. I notice a single stem, the tallest of the masses at four feet, whose will and desire to perservere the harsh attack holds its clasp of petals tightly, unrelenting to the forces tearing at it ever so violently. A perfectly stable, fully bloomed pink rose, denying it's fate in the face of destruction, billows back and forth in the withering garden it calls home. As my eyes follow the stem to and fro in awe of this precious beauty's resolve, I can't help but wonder where my pruners are.

Learn more about this author, Jeff Bolz.
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