Alone

The chilly March wind buffeted the first rose on the bush. My eyes filled with tears. It would always serve as a reminder of that warm day in June, over forty years ago, when Henry and I had first planted it. We had just got back from our honeymoon. He died last November, suddenly, in his sleep – a heart attack, probably painless. Now, all I have left are the memories – and one fragile rose.

And that was my latest submission to Paragraph Planet that went online on August 18. I need to get back on track and submit some more paragraphs but I am one of those people who flit from one thing to another. One moment I am all about writing. The next I am all about re-decorating. I wonder if there are more people like me or if I have just inherited my father's worse genes. I know he is like that too.

My husband took the photo of the rose last year when we were visiting his parents in America. My father in-law has many rose bushes with flowers of many different hues, smells and shapes. The photo was taken right after it had rained and I think it is really beautiful how the rain-drops looks like little diamonds on the delicate pink rose.

I've decided to write a short post today but hopefully will be back with a longer one later on during the week ... that is, if I don't get sidetracked by something else ;)