Computer Science Geek
Summer roses
It’s no wonder that roses mean love. They cup within their petals a certain deep, musky sweetness that—once too long a time has gone by—turns sour, like wine left out and gone to vinegar. They are soft as a woman’s cheek, until they’re old—and then dry, brittle, crumbling. They are every blooming promise of youth and inspiration, but only for a moment.
Still, even a fallen rose is irresistible. A rose underfoot, trampled and tart and whose blush has turned pale, is fragrant with the memory of what once took center stage and now, without fanfare, passes away: the heat of first meeting, the long days of summer.
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