Even though it's well into November, the roses are still legion. Many have browned, some just around the edges, and wilting is evident. Some have miraculously weathered the frost- the survivors. One hardy crimson variety boasted many.
From a distance, the roses looked like the buds of spring. The foliage on surrounding trees belied such a notion, yet the roses' colors still impressed.
Some of us feel the onset of doldrums. I hope to roll with the flow of nature, like the roses. As we light our fires and unearth woolen blankets, the park workers will arrive to put the roses to bed. Our metabolism slows.
We don't have to fight it. We can rest with the roses and believe in spring.