Two Dozen roses

I’ve never received a dozen roses before...... much less two... A magnificent display now graces my writing table, the delicate scent wafting past me as the day warms. Each long stemmed flower is perfect, no doubt picked late yesterday - perhaps this morning as the ends of the stems are crisp and bright green still.

I’d always been a carnation girl. As a treat to myself during uni days, I‘d buy a single carnation and babys breath and arrange it on my study desk, staring at it rather than the dreary papers i was meant to look at. ( ahh the days before computers, when assignments were had written.) It was an affordable luxury - under $2 at the time - the price of a bus fare.

When Adrian and I were courting ( and I feel so old to be able to say that) He’d always bring me a bunch of carnations on a Friday evening before we went out. back then, I felt roses never lasted, were pretentious and a little ugly when compared with the radiance of a carnation.

I sit now and drink in the beauty of my roses. A statement to be certain, but one of acceptance. I am fully embracing my new stage in life, my new age grouping. The rose reminds me of youths momentary flare, but even as it dries, is still beautiful. Stately and graceful, powerful and delicate, soft but barbed. The rose represents a woman who is ready to step into her power.

I farewell my love affair with carnations; for they truely are a young girls flower; highly perfumed, frilly and fluffy, but handled roughly quickly becomes ragged and unattractive; discarded quickly and the next cheap one brought on board.

A dozen roses, so many statements within that cluster,beautiful on its own, magnificent together.