The first rose of the season suddenly bloomed in our garden today. I saw it this morning when I went out to the back yard. It was tiny and red and very well hidden:
I was feeling cold and grumpy as I hurried down the path to the trash cans, and then I saw it and my face lit up with a smile: the very first rose of the season.
We recently found out that our little one (she’s seven. Can I still call her little? I think I can) has severe seasonal allergies. Nothing we can’t manage or handle, but it does make me look at spring through very different eyes. Whereas before I was happy and excited about all the colors and scents, I now feel suspicious and weary of them.
Still, it’s difficult not to love spring, even if flowering plants releasing tiny pollens are suddenly the enemy. And the thing I love most about spring is to watch my garden fill with beautiful, colorful, fragrant roses.