You could spread the velvet butteriness of this late autumn rose on your toast .....or drink the nectar of light it cups between its petals.
I wish it was growing in my garden but all my roses are over. This afternoon I pruned back their straggly prickly stems...and dead headed the geraniums....and swept up the red and gold leaves of the creeping Russian vine scattered on the grass....and cut the lawn....with the surprise of sun hot on my neck.
Later I sorted through boxes of archived financial papers in Robin's office...not always sure what to throw away and what to keep. ....constantly flooded with gratitude for the work he did to make sure we would be safe.....his familiar handwriting plunging me back into the intircate spider's web of our money history..
And now because I lay awake many hours in the night...with those 3am worries ballooning into the dark...I'm fragile tired and headachy empty.
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