Well, I have succumbed to a challenge presented by my friend/writing-encourager Marlon. Last month he decided to take an Instagram photo-a-day challenge and use each photo prompt as a writing prompt. He suggested I do it, but I chickened out (I really need to stop doing that).
So here I am, March 1, writing about yellow. There’s so much I could write about. Yellow is my favorite color, I have so many items of yellow clothing, my high school colors were blue and gold and my college was black and gold, I have a lemon tree, a yellow ribbon (’round the ol’ oak tree).. Needless to say, I really enjoy yellow. I decided on something different, something not many people know about.
A yellow rose.
Yellow roses are usually brought in sympathy, but there’s nothing sympathetic about this plant. In my eyes, roses will forever represent my family. My grandfather was a test gardener for Jackson & Perkins so we have a few unnamed roses in our yard. After he passed away in 1988, my mom continued to take care of them. We have about 15 planted around our front and backyards, beautifully fragrant and bold in color. This specific plant is one of the unnamed ones. It is tucked back behind our garage, roughly 40 years old and I think it holds a grudge against me.
The size of this rose vise is deceiving. In the winter, it’s small, trimmed back to preserve it’s resources, in the late spring and summer, it grows to great heights. I have walked or backed myself into this behemoth countless times, each time ending in thorns stuck in my clothes and my skin. It spent the majority of my youth scarring/scaring me from going into that part of the yard.
But now, we have seemed to come to terms with each other. I am much more mellow (and careful) and I’ve learned to love nature a lot more. I think the rose knows because it keeps giving me these: