Tuesday, March 26, 2013


aka the language of flowers 
was a Victorian era means of communicating 
in which various flowers were used 
to send coded messages, 
allowing individuals to express feelings 
which otherwise could not be spoken.

I wonder if they came with a decoder ring? 
Or were their meanings so well known 
that no cheat sheet was needed… 
in which cause, 
it would seem to detract 
from the efficacy of a ‘coded’ messages… 
might as well Twitter it 
if everyone knew it anyway!

If you’ve read this blog for any amount of time, 
you’ll know of my abiding love for roses…

yes, I have passion for more than Peeps! 

Flowers, and gardening,  
are the perfect metaphors for life… 
cycles of seeming death or quiescence, 
re-birth, full flower and then decline – 

as well as speaking directly to being uprooted, 
putting down roots, 
planting the seed 
without seeing the fruits of your labor, 
being in the wrong climate 
or soil, 
issues of control, 
benign neglect,
I realized the other day that the roses that attract me at the grocery store 
on any given day 
can also give me a clue 
about my emotional state. 

I usually love billowy roses – 

graceful, open, receptive, 
and unfolding to the light source – 
meager though it may be 
on a bleak mid- winter day.

And, while tea roses have a ‘meaning’ of “I’ll always remember”, 
I can’t help but think it’s because they’re so tightly clenched, 
unable to relax 
and relinquish their grip. 
Beautiful – but SO uptight! 

Guess which ones I chose this week?
 Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 
I’m considering it a sign of maturity that I’m not judging.

I can see the beauty in all states of ‘rose-ness’.
   But there’s also no doubt in my mind  - 
sister needs a vacation! 

1 comment:

Richard said...

Yeah, sister needs a vaca! The roses (and the flowers you photograph) appear to me to be near perfection. I've been aware for some time that imperfections and flaws are important because it's reality. Not everything is perfect...sometimes we're droopy and heads-down, frost-bitten and rough around the edges, closed and unwilling to reveal our real beauty, and sometimes devoid of color and seemingly near death. But somehow I don't give a shit about all that. Show me the beauty and the perfection and call it a day!