Friday, 6 December 2013

December Rose

Christmas is approaching. Shop windows are filling with grinning Santas, tinsel and paper snow, the street gutters with torn leaves, damp from the melting of car-window frost scrapings. Despite the winds of biting cold that swirl in the crystalline air, and the sound of sleigh-bells drifting from car radios, roses do not have to come in coloured foil wrappers to be fought over by small hands, as under the blue sky in the shivering garden, a few delicate petals still cling to the climber that trails along the garden fence, blushing under the all knowing gaze of the pale sun. 

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