The climbing roses have burst into bloom. Pale buds are blossoming into creamy pink flowers, are shading the deck table, are hanging overhead even as I write these words.
Does nature produce any flower as lovely as the New Dawn climbing rose? The shiny green foliage, the shy petals, the subtle color, like the barest of blushes.
I trained the roses to shade the deck, to cover the pergola, and now they almost do. As a result, the best view is from a second-floor window — odd, but a feature of this plant, which grows up and out.
And how can you not love a plant like that? One with such high aspirations, with such beauty and patience (because the buds were ready to burst open for weeks it seemed)? One with such poise and determination?
I write about the roses this time every year. I know I'm being repetitive ... but I just can't help myself.
