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| Rosa 'Leander' - 6 May 2025 |
It’s such a little thing to weep
189 – Emily Dickinson
It’s such a little thing to weep—
So short a thing to sigh—
And yet—by Trades—the size of these
We men and women die!
My youngest daughter Hilary (53) is not necessarily religious but she constantly tells me, “Papi you have to appreciate every day what you have and be grateful.”
Today I scanned three of my just blooming roses and wrote this blog. I then went inside and made myself a large mug of tea. I returned to the garden and notice a not-quite-open Rosa ‘Leander’. I thought about how most rosarians of the Vancouver Rose Society would not display that not-quite-open in their June Rose Show. They have rules, many are from Victorian times.
I thought otherwise and marvelled at its beauty. I knew I was not going to just scan the rose as if I had a macro lens on my camera. The added leaf provides to me, more interest.
Why would I be doubly grateful? My cat Niño indicated he wanted to get on a tall chair that is next to the one I am sitting in. He is asleep and provides me with a lovely stable comfortable companionship.
More Emily Dickinson blogs
All the Witchcraft that we need
It only gives our wish for blue
Rosemary white and a bit of yellow
November left then clambered up
You cannot make remembrance grow
November
the maple wears a gayer scarf
Just as green and as white
It's full as opera
I cannot dance upon my Toes
a door just opened on the street
Amber slips away
Sleep
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue
Linda Melsted - the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash
Water makes many beds
The viola da gamba
But sequence ravelled out of reach
A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
Without the power to die
Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
I took my power in my hand
I find my feet have further goals
I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone!
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red
Me-come! My dazzled face
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/01/i-felt-my-life-with-both-my-hands.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/blonde-assasin-passes-on.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/12/you-almost-bathed-your-tongue.html
