Rose

 

Everything was brown and crisp here at the end of a very long and arid summer.

Spring and summer’s flowers were long gone and only the grasses remained; even those were bent over touching the ground. It was just too damn dry to be green and stand up.

Except for the one rose bush off to the side of the lawn.

It, too, had suffered from the drought, and the leaves were sparce and yellow, but once a week since early spring, it defiantly opened a single pink bloom that filled the entire yard with the heady aroma of beauty.