A rose, red as blood. Thorns or thornless, a joyful thing. Here is life and beauty, scent of musk, blooms that attract bees and insects. I remember the rose bush at home when I was a child. It had bright pink roses climbing up some trellis work. We used to collect the petals and try and make scented water out of them. It didn’t really work, but it was fun trying. The rose bush must have been eight or ten feet high and as wide. In the summer the scent was fantastic. I remember it was next to an old shed and the paint on the door was green and bubbling off because of the sunlight. The contrast between the fresh roses and the shed door was so interesting….
Another digital drawing done at sketchfu a few years ago (site now closed). This was a drawing challenge. Artists would post photos and then challenge others to draw the image just using the sites simple tools. I don’t know if the original picture was photographed with ultraviolet light or with blue dye injected into the flowers.
When I bought the house I noticed a small rose bush. I thought nothing more of it. Then I moved in and everything was lovely. At least at first.
As time passed the garden grew, I tried to look after it, but it just kept growing. The roses were beautiful, white, perfumed. But it kept growing, entwined in the fence, creeping over the path.
But inside the house I felt safe. It was warm and comfortable, the colours were muted, pastels, old soft furnishings, blankets, a happy place.
Then one morning, I tried opening the double front door, the handle would not move, something was wrapped around it? I looked out of the window, sideways, I saw it. The rose had grown round the door handle, as I watched leaves sprouted and perfect white flowers appeared. The house was happy, the rose was happy. But me? Not so much.
I was talking to a friend earlier about her valentine experiences and remembered an incident from about thirty years ago…
It was a cold, clear Valentines day morning. I’d got up to go to work, and as I stepped outside I found a red rose on my doorstep. It wasn’t wrapped in cellophane or paper. It was a long stemmed rose. Deep scarlet. Beautiful, slightly starting to wilt. I looked up and down the street, no one around. We were in a terraced house, so the door opened down a step straight onto the pavement. Anyone could have left it there.
I went inside and asked my then boyfriend, later to be hubby, if he had put it on the step. But he said no. I quizzed him, but no it was not him. To be honest it wasn’t his style, he rarely knows when it’s valentines day and usually only gets me a card if I get him one. He was as surprised as I was but said I should take it as a compliment!
So I had this beautiful rose. I cut the stem at an angle and it in a pint glass while I went out to do my shift at work.
But I couldn’t concentrate. All morning I thought about who could have left it? It might have been a neighbour. It might have been a friend, but I had no idea that anyone had romantic thoughts about me. My inner Miss Marple told me that it couldn’t have been there long and that it must have been bought from the nearby florists as no roses were in flower at that time of year. There are roses growing on the factory opposite our house, but they were bare stems.
Who? That was my thought. Whoever it was must have known I was in a long term relationship? Why? Did they think I was looking for someone new? The answer to that was no….
Eventually I decided that the rose must have been for someone else. Perhaps the anonymous person had mistaken my doorstep for someone else’s?
I will never know. It never happened again. The next year I felt disappointed. Since then I have rarely remembered it. Only today’s chat reawakened the memory for me.
Day twenty three of the 64 million artists January challenge. I wrote this…
Day 23, I can’t find the actual challenge, but I think it is to write a poem to support nature and say what superpower you would have.
My super power would be to turn hunters guns into flowers so they can’t kill majestic animals like Lions and Rhino’s and Elephants.
If you shoot at Rhino,
Elephant, or Giraffe,
I will turn your gun into
A flower for a laugh.
You won’t be able to kill,
Despite your evil will.
And with rifle now a rose
A Tiger might bite your nose!
Leave the scarce alone,
Don’t bother to wail and moan,
Elephant want to roam,
Panthers need a home.
No more evil deeds,
Turning guns into seeds!
I saw this in a cafe this morning and took a photo of it. More pink than red, in full bloom, beautiful. A classic rose shape, a whorl of petals and a swirl of colour. I like the way the petals fold back giving their edges a more angular look. The green leaf attached to it is pure green and adds a contrast in colour.
I wouldn’t say it was a brilliant photo, the background is over exposed, as is the rose slightly. It’s not fully in focus, but I like it anyway.