Valentine’s Day is often associated with freshly cut long stem roses. The redder, softer and more fragrant the better- as if that is the only incarnation of a rose that could represent love. A soft, fresh, fragrant specimen picked before it has properly bloomed, separated from it’s roots and stripped of all it’s thorns.
But for all this fleeting beauty, by definition it is a dead thing.
I feel it’s such a shame to honor only the beautiful beginnings of things so varied as love and roses. Every long relationship goes through seasons, every stage vital to the authenticity of both concept and plant.
From bud to bloom, hip to seed and root to thorn- the life of a rose is so much more then soft peddles new to the sunlight, cut short only to be labeled “long.”
True love should be alive. Like roses, love needs to grow and change year over year. Therein lies its transcendent beauty.
The sun bleached rose hip on the tip of a thorn laden stem is the essence of a rose this time of year. All her energies below ground waiting patently in twisted roots for the return of the sun and long hot summer days.
If I foster the expectation of eternal blossoms I will surly be disappointed for no living thing can live up to those unfortunate sentiments. If I do that, I miss a chance to revel in the dark times when the thorny structures we have built become battlements against the cold harshness of life’s winters.
Celebrate each other in all stages of love and life.
Don’t be afraid to embrace the true nature of a February’s rose.