This Is Not A
Plucked From The Gale
I was standing at the kitchen window late on Sunday afternoon, when
I saw that there was a flower on the rose bush next to the shed.
I must admit that I've been neglecting the garden of late. I'm very
busy on a major redecoration project.....sorry, that sounds like a load
of corporate crap. I'll rephrase it at once in human language...I'm
very busy redecorating the house from top to bottom after the central
heating went in last month.
Anyway, there was this rose, a deep red rose, on the top of a very
long stem (the bush has long stems so that it can see daylight over the
long grass). It was being battered by the wind, which was increasing
towards gale force. One of its lower petals was already hanging down
limply, and it was only a matter of time before it blew off and was
joined by the rest of the bloom.
Something made me uneasy about this prospect. I don't know what it
was - I'm usually an 'Oh well, that's the way of the world' sort of
bloke. The more I watched this, the more annoyed I became at the
thought of this howling wind trying to dismember something so beautiful.
After a minute or two I couldn't stand any more of it, and there
was nothing for it but for me to go out into the back garden and snip
the flower off. I brought it back indoors, filled a tall glass with
water, added a pinch of caster sugar to give it some limited
nutritional value, and placed the rose in the water. It's there still.
It'll still fade and die, of course, as must all living things
(which is why I'm more sentimental about things than people - I
might expand on this point sometime). But I feel as if I've done
something good, something worthwhile, in saving a thing of fragile
beauty from being raped by the south-west wind. Although I can't help
but wonder: some particularly fanciful people claim that plants scream
when you cut them. Did the rose bush shout, "Oy! I need that, you
bastard!" when I severed the bloom? I'm glad I'm not so sensitive
as to be able to find out.