damik's Diaryland Diary

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The Rose

There is a big, beautiful, full, red rose on the way to the office. I noticed it when it was just a bud, and I've been noting it's progress ever sence.
Now it's in full bloom. I wish I was a photographer so I could take a picture of it. I always look over as I pass, I have the impulse to pick it, bring it inside, put it in a vase. I'm sure I'm not the only one. But I never do it isn't mine to take. So instead I take the time to smell that rose, squeeze it a little, and wonder how long it's going to hold on. Seems no one told it that it's November.
The leaves all around on the bush are turning brown and falling off, but this rose seems to shine in it's perfection. It's bright, red petels contrasting an otherwise grey November.
Nostly I'm in awe of it's, for lack of a better word, strength. To say it's a late bloomer would be a grosse understatement. Months after the other roses have faded from memory comes this flower. And despite the cold, cold nights and the short, short days this flower has thrived. If only I could find such strenght. When the worlds turned grey, when every thing seems to be falling around me, in the dark lonely time, that I could bloom. That I, too, could possess such beauty.

12:18p.m. - 11-16-01
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