Perhaps there is a yearning of Spring here, or reminiscing of lazy summers spent in rose scented gardens of stately homes with faded grandeur. Floral wallpapers, old glasshouses, tattered lace curtains.
During my Nana’s funeral, earlier this week, there was obviously a huge outpouring of love for this wonderful woman, but one thing that struck home to me was her love of nature, something I know was passed down from her to my mum and then down to me.
On the back of the service sheets was a picture of the rose which climbs the front of her house. pale yellow and tinged with pink on the edges, full and blousey. I want to plant a rose like this in my own garden. Letting it climb upwards and bloom forever.