A Rose
written by: Phyllis Souza
It’s May.
I’m a red rose standing tall. My long green stem is stunning and adorned with sharp thorns that protect my unique beauty. My tightly wrapped petals emit an intoxicating fragrance that captivates the senses, evoking awe and admiration. Although deeply rooted in rich, dark soil, I will be picked and become part of a larger, harmonious whole.
In the morning, I revel in the sound of bugle-playing taps, heralding the arrival of a new day filled with endless possibilities.
The world awakens, and so do I.
Church bells fill the air. It’s Sunday—Mother’s Day, a day of anticipation and celebration.
***
Somewhere, A man with a white carnation on his lapel, slicked-back hair, and shiny black shoes is a sight to behold.
An older woman, presumably his mother, wears a long black dress with an orchid corsage pinned on the shoulder. Her makeup, a testament to her grace, smooths out her aging skin.
She links her arm through his, and they stroll toward the silver Mercedes parked in front of a two-story brick home on the circular driveway.
They’re off to a luxurious restaurant, where they will likely enjoy a rosebud-adorned center table, fittingly celebrating this special day.
***
A young mother in the maternity ward cradles her newborn. What a wondrous gift—a baby daughter, just in time to celebrate Mother’s Day.
The newborn, with her innocent eyes and delicate features, is a vision that fills the heart with love and joy.
A breathtaking bouquet of pink peonies adorns the bedside table.
Peonies, in all their beauty, might believe they are the most beautiful flowers in the world, but that’s not necessarily true.
Listen:
“My darling baby,” the mother gazes down. “Because you have the most beautiful face, I’m naming you Rose.” Her words are filled with love and appreciation as she warmly embraces the newborn.
***
A hunched man in baggy coveralls and a worn baseball cap ascends the rickety steps of the old wooden farmhouse.
His wife of 50 years sits in a cane-backed rocker on the porch, shaded by an old oak tree, reading the Bible. “Glory be,” she exclaims when she sees her husband holding a single red rose.
He smiles as he hands her the rose, a gesture of profound love and deep appreciation. “For my beautiful wife. Thank you for a wonderful life.”
She inhales the sweet scent, which inundates her with memories and emotions. Her eyes are closed, and tears stream down her thinning lashes—a testament to the overwhelming love she feels.
***
I’m a red rose standing tall. I am grateful to have blossomed in the garden of love and been chosen to be gifted to a mother on this special day.
Happy Mother’s Day!
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