“A rose bush lay half hidden in the weeds at the corner of the yard. A relic from a garden planted long ago, but abandoned for the glories of a sunnier patch. It was mostly brown and lean, it’s thorny limbs reaching out to the sky with a sad desperation.
“Get that raggedy old thing out of here.” I was told, “Throw it over the bank with the weeds.”
“But it’s still alive, ” I protested, “Don’t you want to give it a chance?”
“No I most certainly do not, just get rid of it.” Was the reply.
I looked intently at the spindly bush and it gazed back with a placid expression. A close investigation proved a touch of green at the base of the plant, and one shy leaf struggling to emerge into the summer sun. All it needed was a little love, a little patience, but nobody seemed to have the time or inclanation to help her along.
Don’t they know how beautiful would be that bloom kissed by morning dew? Don’t they know how fragrant would be that blossom carried on a warm breeze? Do they not understand that even a paltry, waning life such as this one could still burst into glorious color at least one more time?
Of course they do not.
The reaching limbs of the struggling plant remain empty. Nobody will embrace the lonely rose, they are too aware of the thorns.
With the silent tread of a ninja, I sneak my new little friend into the back of my jeep. “Shh.” I tell her, “It will be okay.”