Six months ago I had just come back from my dream trip to France, and what a great time I had. I still love looking over my pictures. I change the background photo of my computer pretty often and this picture of garden roses at the villa where I stayed in Provence somehow just keeps resurfacing. I have decided that one reason I like it is not because it is a stem of perfect roses but because it is more like a family of four generations of elegant women in various seasons of their short yet beautiful lives. Our eye is drawn to the center, to the protected young bloom with the peach blush. Who would dare pluck her now? Below and looking forward, a maturing pink edged bloom, and to the right, an open grandmother rose whose white petals have lost their youthful hue. And between the second and third generations hang dried petals of a spent flower, a beauty who had her day in the sun and is all but faded away.
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