Love’s Rose

The last flush of roses in the garden

To get to them I needed to walk on the grass and I am still unsteady on grass.

Armed with a camera, secateurs and one crutch I set off.

Once I had taken the photograph, I set about trying to cut some flowers. I needed one hand to steady myself, one hand to cut and a third….

So I held the first cut roses in my teeth. I pictured myself like some heroic figure, Zorro perhaps, with secateurs rather than a flashing blade.
Or perhaps a pale, romantic figure from a bygone poem.
(See, for example, Love’s Rose by Percy Bysshe Shelley)

However, it started raining and in my hurry to get indoors, my crutch caught on the lower rose branches and I stumbled badly, the rose in my mouth exacting its revenge with its sharp thorns.

Bloodied but unbowed, I made my way indoors, Blipfoto complete.
And that is what matters.
Right?