Ah Little Rose — how easy For such as thee to die!
Nobody knows this little Rose –
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it –
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey –
On it’s breast to lie –
Only a Bird will wonder –
Only a Breeze will sigh –
Ah Little Rose — how easy
For such as thee to die!
Emily Dickinson
Every day I visit my garden to check on my plants. There are some that like my Rosemary’s cat, Casi-Casi have humanity in them. Roses to me have that. It may be that they represent in their names long gone people that I knew or know about.
There is Rosa ‘James Mason’ that is a modern Gallica (once blooming) that was hybridized by Peter Beales who is no longer with us. I met him and he gave me advice on growing roses and dedicated his singular book, Classic Roses, to my granddaughter Rebecca whom I hope, someday, will return to her roses.
Some people find it odd when I tell them that my scans of my roses are special and different because they communicate with me.
To look at once-blooming Gallicas and Albas (not remontant) is to say goodbye as they lose their petals with no promise of new blooms. It is almost as we tell each other goodbye and hope that in the next year we will be together again.
As Casi-Casi get his twice-daily shots of insulin and we carry him up the stairs he and my roses remind me of the impermanence of things good and how we must enjoy them while we can.
More Emily Dickinson
Originally published at blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com.
