The roses have arrived in full. Every morning I go out to inspect the new blooms. I find it hard to cut them - I counsel myself into saving them for something really special and then can't make up my mind what that is. I find reasons to hang out with them - weeding, watering. I visualize different arrangements, but then weigh their imperfections with the cost of butchering my baby shrubs and do nothing. The next day I go out and they've shattered into a million petals. Roses don't have a lot of patience for my anxieties.
Right before leaving town for the long weekend I threw together this little bouquet to honour the first flush of blooms. I hated to part with it. All the flowers are from my garden.