Rose, Orange

When I want to photograph roses, I go to Fort Wayne’s Lakeside Rose Garden.
It hosts award-winning varieties from around the world, all expertly groomed.
I’m sometimes there two or three hours at a time,
      moving slowly from bush to bush,
            kneeling just inches away from those luscious colors.
I’ve been going to that garden for thirty-five years.
I used to live two blocks away and I’d take my daughter there in a stroller.
Later we played hide and seek among the paths.
Later still, as minister at the nearby church,
      I conducted outdoor worship services there,
            folding chairs almost hiding the plants.
Through the years I officiated at a couple dozen weddings there.
I am embarrassed to admit that after all those years,
      through hundreds of visits to those flower beds,
            it has only been in the last couple of years that
                  I’ve begun to really see those roses.
That’s the truth: I’m only beginning to see them.
I’d like to think this image is a decent start.
Who knows?
If I keep at it, in another thirty years perhaps I’ll be able to really see a rose.
It will be worth the effort.