November Rose.

Those of you who have ever been moving know that it comes across like an endless process. Particularly the ultimate phase, when one is almost done and then again not quiet yet and when long days turn into late nights and all that remains is total exhaustion.

I am in that last phase right now and thus I have not been able to visit any of your lovely places, for which I apologize. I hope to do so as soon as my life returns to a somewhat familiar routine, which will be shortly.

The house is though now almost empty. It's rooms echo my footsteps and the music streaming out of the radio, reminding me of the time when I moved in. Serendipitously this was also in the month of November, thus I feel my time there has come full circle.
As I was collecting the last of my potted plants from my back terrace the other day, just when dusk was settling over the neighborhood ending a foggy, drizzly late autumn day, I had to pause for a moment as a feeling of familiarity overcame me. The place came across so barren and deserted, so empty of life, just like it did those eight years ago.
Then I saw it.
A single November Rose blooming in all its splendor on my old rosebush, this late in the year, when everything else in nature seems lifeless.

It came across as a beautiful sign of hope and a sweet fragrant gift which the house bestows upon me as I say my farewells. A miracle of nature confirming the fact that everything in life is truly connected.

(I managed to take these two snapshots with my old Nikon Coolpix, which I had with me, just before it run out of battery.)

Fragrant Neglect.

These days I spend somewhat limited time in my white house on the hill. Instead, almost every weekend I am adding miles to my little Toyota engine, as my faithful car takes me up north to a place that is increasingly becoming my new home.

Thus my terrace and garden are suffering from a certain mild neglect. The patio tiles are surrounded by weed and I have not planted any seasonal flowers since early this spring.

My potted plants are luckily all evergreens and they seem to be nevertheless thriving quiet well and have grown beyond belief. The garden is now displaying the bloom of all my fragrant bushes and shrubs, such as jasmine, caprifolium and a variety of roses.
Despite the lack of my attention, the growth proceeds undisturbed in an uncanny way.

The other morning, as I stepped outside with a cup of coffee, I had to linger there for a while, inhaling the perfumed morning air, saturated by dew and scents of June bloom.
A faint, slightly undetermined feeling encompassed my entire being, a mixture of sweet melancholy and subtle sentimental longing with a hint of excitement. My mind became aware of an approaching finale of a certain personal era, while my consciousness captured mental shots of a moment in time - one that might never ever repeat itself again....

(Please click image for a larger view)

A Bouquet Of Roses.

I received roses the other day. As I was arranging the stunning beauties, so many in numbers they eventually came to adorn two tables, I realized that I have not been given fresh cut flowers for a very long time. For years, perhaps decades...
And what a shame that it is as I love that simple, but so expressive sentiment that a bouquet represents.


The gift of flowers symbolizes so much in our modern world. Red and scented bouquet is a symbol of love, admiration or friendship, while an elegant and simple can convey our compassion or sympathy. In any case, flower arrangements signifies and highlight special moments in our lives; some happy, full of celebrations, some more solemn and some very sad.

They express in beauty and in shape that which we sometimes fail to express in words.

Days Of Wine And Roses.

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

Summer - in my vision always arriving as a flamboyant knight - finally regained seasonal reign over the cold North, taking the throne with all the splendor of colours and light, sunshine and fragrance.

The golden time of the year has begun; it will be fleeting and evasive at best, teasing us with few magnificent days of sun and blue skies, only to bestow upon us rain and cold as soon as we let our guard down. Still, these are the days of the elusive summer, which has been anticipated and sought after, like never before. It will compel nature to grow lush and lavish and the air to become saturated with the fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine.

I intend to spend the next few weeks in the company of the extravagant gentleman Summer and hopefully some lovely visitors as well. Thus I am taking a break and will return again sometimes later in July.

My days of wine and roses are here. And they are not long...

The Time Of Roses...

I love roses. Right now, all my rosebushes are blooming. The roses that grow on my terrace, came with the house and to begin with, I wanted to get rid of them. Not because they were not beautiful or difficult to care for, but because they were (and still are) every year attacked by some sort of bug. I have tried everything to fight this pest, all kinds of chemicals available on the market, but nothing helps. It is nothing visible, the only thing I see is flowers and leaves that become ragged on the edges, as if eaten. Someone told me recently, that it is indeed some sort of vermin that lives in the ground and comes up in the night to feast on the beautiful plant and there is nothing one can do about it. Short of getting rid of the rose.

Today I have accepted that I have only a short time each year to lavish in the beauty of the roses. This incredibly resilient plant is as beautiful and fragile, as it is strong and dangerous, with all its thorns. It blooms almost all year around; the top picture depicts flowers that I picked one year in early December.
I admire the rose and I would love to resemble it; lovely to look at, but dangerous to the touch. A treat for the eyes, yet to be approached with care. So strong, coming back each year with stunning beauty. Bringing happiness to anyone who gazes at it, signifying love and ethereal beauty.

If I had to pick one flower or plant that I resemble, it is definitely not a rose. At the best I am an orchid; I am sensitive and require a lot of care, attention and love. I pose no threat to anyone; what you see is what you get. And I will only thrive if cared for properly; if ignored or neglected, I will die.

But I would much rather be a rose.

A Rose.

This morning, when I looked out of the window, I could see that almost all the trees are now standing barren. The storm the other day has removed any trace of the beautiful golden and copper colored leaves and now they lie in heaps all over my terrace, in a need of raking.
But as I looked across toward the fence, I could see that my rose was in bloom. The flowers have remarkably survived the night frost and the strong wind. What an extraordinary sight to observe - a delicate flower defying the season, despite the winter approaching rapidly.