Rose

This week's exercise from Meet Me At Mike's ...


Once, my sister and I were staying at our Nana's, and Mum packed up a bloom from the rose she and Dad had planted for me, and sent it in a parcel with some other nice treats. It's called Silver Lining.
I once went to a wedding that was held in the rose garden at the Botanic Gardens. In June, unfortunately, so there were acres and acres of dead-looking sticks in the background of every picture.
I'm not much of a rose fan, really. I only have two roses in my garden. At the front door is a Dublin Bay rose, a deep red climber that gets better every year. In the back garden is Dame Te Atairangikaahu, a purple heavily-scented bush rose. It's not done much so far. I bought it when the Maori Queen died.
I like going to the rose garden and smelling the old roses. I mean, the roses with that lovely real perfume that roses all seemed to have when we were kids. It's a powerful reminiscence tool for me.
I used to try making pot pourri but usually ended up with rotten rose petals. Then I realised I didn't much care for pot pourri anyway.
I always think it's somehow apt that an anagram of rose is sore.