The last rose

The killing frost has passed already
The leaves have all but fallen completely
The last stragglers hanging by a thread
Not really alive
But not yet dead
The last apples are harvested
Gardens are brown and withering
Plans for winter snow are in the air
I wander in this desolate garden
I recall the splendid glory past
I breathe the musty air
I imagine the smell of a rose
Sweet, mellow, lingering
I feel the soft petals on my finger tips
It seems so real in my mind
I realize that this is no dream
As here before me is the last rose
It was no imagination of mine
or was it...
I do not recall the rose here moments ago
Is this a conjuring?
I bend
I see the intricate pattern of opening petals
Ivory and pure
Smell like mid summer garden
Feel the velvet touch of the petals
This is no ordinary rose
A rose of magic to survive the killing frost
I share this with others I love
That they may appreciate the essence
That we may share the last rose
And appreciate it's beauty
Together.

The last rose of summer. It was a beautiful ivory rose and smelled like no other. I stopped, smelled the rose, I stopped my daughter and let her smell the rose. I stopped my wife and let her enjoy the aroma. I almost cut it to bring inside but chose to leave it as a sign of resistance against the frost of fall. I wrote a single line on a scrap of paper to return to later to expand upon. "Stop and smell the rose", as cliche as this sounds. This was written immediately after the "Choice" in the previous post....in the same email in fact. The rose that appeared in the Choice reminded me about the line I had written before and it was the right time to finish it.

I actually wanted this to have been a piece about the end of things when I first jotted down the single line. I was prepared for desolation, sorrow so great that it could not be survived. My spirit has chosen a different path for this thought and I am glad. The last rose should never be an ending but always a beginning, so this is not so much a poem about smelling the roses as it is a description of a last rose and perhaps about the power of imagination...I am sure that theme may appear elsewhere.

Jeff