Some years ago now, a lovely blogging friend Vee hosted a Notecard Party. It was held once a month, and the rule, as I recall, was that participants were to create a blog post featuring a collection of four photos they'd published in past blog posts. It was such fun to search for photos that would make a compatible foursome. I always loved seeing the creativity of other bloggers. As things go, the Notecard Party was eventually disbanded. I was sorry to see it go.
For today, I'm resurrecting the Notecard idea. My mom's Peace Rose, which currently lives in our garden and is overwintered in our garage, has been in its glory this past week. Having bloomed in early June, Peace Rose took several weeks to regroup, and despite all the rain we've had this summer, she has given us another sublime showing over the last few days. Perfectly-formed buds opening into blossoms surrounded by glossy, bug-free leaves.
Here in Alberta, we never take for granted any roses that make it through winter and start growing in people's gardens come spring. I never tire of watching roses in bloom, and I never tire of taking yet another photo, just in case I didn't get every angle.
The Peace rose, formally Rosa 'Madame A. Meilland', has large flowers of a light yellow to cream colour and are slightly flushed with crimson-pink at the petal edges. The rose over the decades has become a symbol of hope around the world. I think we all could use some hopeful thoughts for better days, in light of this past weekend's terrible events. If you haven't heard of Peace Rose's famous history, you are welcome to read about her HERE.
I dedicate this post to my mom, since it is her rose (we're happily the caretakers) and since Mom is a 'beautiful rose' in her own right. And now, in four delightful stages, I give you...
Peace Rose: A Quartet
Where you tend a rose, my lad,
a thistle cannot grow.”
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
God gave us memories that we
might have roses in December.
J. M. BARRIE
The Rose is without an explanation;
She blooms, because She blooms.
The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies.
Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential.
It seems to be constantly in the process of change:
Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.
A rose must remain with the sun and the rain
or its lovely promise won’t come true.
* * *
Aren't you glad for eyes to see such exquisiteness? And what about noses to smell? Her fragrance is like a whisper -- one must lean in close to catch the scent -- the way a woman's perfume ought to be, not overwhelming, just a hint on the breeze . . . soft and sweet and intimate.
On that note, dear friends, I'm wishing you a beautiful day.