Rose Love

Only the Bohemian would take the Valentine’s Day rose he brought me, and try to eek out more life from the love offering.

I teased him when he clipped the stem into two pieces, planting the bud into the soil of our potted spider plant by the kitchen sink. He wanted to see if it would root. And I laughed harder when he took a section of the thorny stem and stuck it in a bottle of water.

But he was laughing at me a few days later when he asked, “Have you seen my rose?”

Because my rose, had now become his latest gardening experiment, and by golly, that stem had a shoot of new growth.

2016-03-03_rose stem

“I’m making roses!” he grinned.

I can see that look in his eyes, as he gazes out at the yard, imagining the new rose garden he’ll have started, all from the gesture of one single holiday bloom to me.

Neither one of us has bothered to research the odds of a stem sprouting to create, what would be, a bona fide rose-bush bearing flowers. At this point, we’re just observing with great interest (note those hair-like roots coming off the top of the stem, as well).

We’ll keep you posted on the love blossom.

In the Frame

“Do you see the window?”

The Bohemian asks me, without pointing. We are in our living room, looking out the window to the front yard, but I know he doesn’t mean the glass in front of us.

I do know what he’s looking at, because I’ve seen it too.

“Yes. Let’s go down and look through it,” I say.

We take cameras because the flowers are bursting fuchsia, and it’s coming on sunset. The naturally formed circle we’ve been eyeing from afar, looks like a giant brush stroke from an invisible force. It winks with a flourish. Beckons us closer. Asks to be seen.

So often, we scan the yard with scrutinizing eyes, sizing up the next project. The irrigation needs to be extended. The Be-Still bushes need pruning. The garden, it can always use weeding.

But this evening, the Bohemian is in rare form, donning a bathroom. It’s Saturday and the sun is settling down. We step through the lawn and look in new ways. We breathe in fresh layers of leaves. Listen to birds on branches. Peer through that shining ring of flowers, magnifying sky, showcasing clouds.

We’ll try to capture the window, but cannot. The colors too elusive, the lighting, for our eyes only. This is a peek for the moment, not for later.

I enjoy the strata of seeing. My small Cannon window lens, focused upon the Bohemian’s handheld window, which is set upon the circle of flowers framing sky. Multiple filters, these bands through which we behold.


2016-02-02_bougainvillea window


And then, it’s time to set down the apparatuses. Stop trying to capture. We simply gaze and wander. See and be.