A couple of days ago, Tom and I were out for a walk and strolled past our fence line in the back yard.
"Wait...was that a rose I just saw?!" I asked, surprised.
Tom knows, and if you know me well you also know, that I keep a pretty close account of the plants in my garden, and I knew, or thought I knew, that my new rose bush had officially long since gone into hibernation mode and showcased lovely deep red rosehips. And yet there it was, leaning out beyond the fence line for passersby to see, defying all logic and also defying the first winter snow, frost-filled mornings and frigid temperatures.
It wasn't the last rose of the summer, really...because it has never known summer temperatures. It budded, blossomed, and bloomed in the cold of autumn, and I don't expect it to last much longer. But it was beautiful, and it was an achingly poignant reminder that no matter how our days are numbered, we should try to fill them, both for ourselves and for those around us, with beauty.