The picture isn't doing it justice, trust me, the bloom was larger than my outstretched hand (spider's legs fingers included).I had an uncle who loved roses, I'm not really sure why. He never told me. I never asked. But we all knew he thought they were beautiful, and they were his favorite of all flowers. I think I can see why, now.
There's something so safe in the reserved nature of a tightly rolled bud. Long, and sleek; protected. In full bloom there is also much to appreciate. Vulnerability at its best, I think. Delicate, open, and unafraid all at once.
If "HERE I AM!" could be screamed without causing a sound, I think she's figured out how to do it.
