Rose Of All Roses
I bumped into these roses yesterday. I had to walk to a nearby bench to collect my senses. The most wonderful rose fragrance ever. I didn't have my notebook so I dreamt about them until I returned.
Rose Of All Roses Lemon and orange skins and their pulp, squeezed into a mist, an unstoppable citrus zest; a stick of cinnamon wrapped in a basil leaf struck on sandpaper. All these aromas must be packed within a bouquet of rose so exquisite, your legs become unsteady and you remember forgotten things. That is who I met today. She and half a dozen of her pale pink sisters were hung haphazardly onto a cracked and peeling trellis, in a forgotten corner of an antique bazaar. I could rebuild the trellis, masts of white oak, spreaders from scrap teak, carefully substituting each rotted piece until the rebuilt frame would be a suitable servant to this rose of all roses. Then shall she, from her forgotten corner, forever hold court. L'Isle-5/23
There she is! And her sisters!
If there ever was an Ode to Spring, this is it! Well done, my friend.
"... a bouquet of rose so exquisite, you remember forgotten things." What a wonderful description of this rose's fragrance, and how loving and respectful that the narrator's immediate response is not to pick the rose but serve it by rebuilding its trellis. Really lovely, Weston.