28 May 2018
roses of may.
it's the last days of may, and our block is a tangle of roses in colors of violet and butter and wine. this has been our first spring in this apartment, and thus our first knowledge of the tenderness with which our garden apartment neighbors tend their bits of earth.
(isn't that just the dreamiest sound, a garden apartment? if i should ever find myself an inhabitant of a garden apartment and asked to vacate, i shall have to be dragged out by my ankles.)
anyway, roses. they touch me in such a profound way, and spin a memory so bright, i'm nearly sure it is from a thread of gold: this week, may last, tidings of our boy blooming with the roses, and soaring into summer on the wings of but one thought: next time the roses bloom...