A rose by any other name

It is 5:47 in the morning and I awaken to the sweet silence of the morning.  There is the peek of sun shining through a small window and its brightness bounces off the glass in front of me.  It takes me a moment to understand why I am feeling so alive.  And then I realize today is March 20, 2021 and the date and time remind me that it is the first day of spring.

Spring is when everyone comes alive again.  They want to forget the long cold days of winter; the massive  snow storms in the north, the tornadoes and torrential rains in the south and whatever frigid tidbits that mother nature offered along the way fromThanksgiving day and on.

But I don’t need to think about these matters at all.  I will only be here today.   I only have one small part to play; but without me, there would a young bride who would not be there to share her smile with me, and capture the essence of my sweetness through her nostrils.  I am actually counting the hours when I will return to peaceful slumber.

I have no name, but you can call me Rose.  If you look close, you will see the purest whiteness of my body, along with some areas of yellow, orange or even brown spots.  My colors, unlike you are not born out of a genetic mode.  They are natural.  I have no need for limbs because I depend on light (lots of bright light) to move and grow, and my nutrients come from the rich ground that bore me, and the drops of water that came to me from the sky.

But you already know this, so I must stop my prattle and invite you to accompany me about my task.

It has been a few stagnant hours since I have welcomed the day and now I hear the sounds of a man sliding open the doors of my glass room.  He has made his morning coffee which permeates with a deep aroma throughout his small shop.  If I look to the left or right of me I can see a variety of various other colors.  The violets are to the right of me and he stops to look over them, to make sure they are getting enough water.  He smiles and passes me on the left.  Then he examines the green leaves on the tulips, touching them ever so gingerly so they do not wilt or bow down in their rich soil.  He finally stops in front of me.  I invariably shutter.  Am I good enough?  Will he choose me to be placed in the very center of the bridal piece.  My need for perfection is my only assurance that I will bring about joy.

Yes.  He is choosing me.  

Next, he chooses deep colored red roses to cascade down in a pear shape.  Finally he leaves the room for about ten minutes and returns with the baby's breath that will be scattered throughout the red and white roses in a perfect bouquet.  The bride will be very happy with his design.  It is the right weight … not too burdensome as she walks down the red carpet floor in the church.  My own fragrance will eliminate any mustiness of the church or its occupants.

When he has completed his artistic feats, he brings us to a green counter and gently wraps us into a blanket of gold and white paper.  This paper will keep the bouquet safe from harm.  Next, he brings us into a refrigerated garden where we will wait until he is ready to transport us in his small delivery van.  I notice that the clock on the wall is noon, so I can rest now and assure myself that all is going along as planned.  I find that the wait is too much for me to bear and even though I am safe from harm, I wish to see the blushing bride.

As the clock strikes five, we are finally placed in the van and we are on our way.  The driver turns on a radio with some odd music piping through the entire van.  Of course it is odd to me because I know nothing about music, but I succumb to it anyway.

I finally see the bride.  She is beautiful in her white flowing wedding gown of satin and lace.  She is also wearing a thin embroidered crown upon her head.  Her name is Lilly and I chuckle to myself when I learn of her name.  She must be a flower, like me.  

I would fail at my job if I did not describe her to you.  She is about five feet, six inches tall with natural golden blond hair that stops just short of her broad shoulders.  She has green eyes, the color of emeralds and has a light application of makeup on her face.  She has just enough rouge on her face to hide any potential blush, or any nervousness that might be lingering behind her white toothy smile.

The only other flesh showing is her narrow wrist, a left hand adorned with a diamond ring that she has been wearing for the last two months.  Soon that finger will be joined with the pure gold band that was left to her by her grandmother.

It is now time for the wedding march and Lilly picks me up ever so gently as I accompany her down the long aisle to meet her groom.  As the groom takes her hands they share the bouquet so I now feel both beauty and love.  I am proud to lay between them and know that I have met my own commitment.

As the evening passes and the guests dine on and dance to frenzied music, I am placed aside on the table by the bride.  She no longer needs to hold on to me as before, and my petals shift somewhat.  But I know that she is still aware of me, because every once in a while she lifts me up and rewards herself with the essence of my perfume.

A few hours of partying has now passed and I am again remembered.  It is time to find my next bride.  I find this to be a strange custom because I must be flung across the room to a group of single ladies who wish to be coupled with a groom.  Before I know it, I have landed in the palms of another potential bride.  Of course she will not recognize me, but she will certainly be graced with the rose of her choosing.

It is midnight and I am finally placed on a cherry wood mantle in the bride and grooms honeymoon room.  

My work here is done.  My petals close and that is the last thing I see or hear.  Good night and have your own sweet dreams.