When Summer Meets Winter

My roses, blooming safe in the radiant heat of our home, finally met their match today. It's snowing and the snow doesn't care one whit about this blossom's valiant defiance of the fact that it is, after all, the middle of November and solid in the midst of Autumn swirling into Winter.

Roses appear to be a delicate flower, but in reality they are amazingly sturdy, blooming in spite of frost and hanging on long after the rest of the flowers have gone to bed in the fall.

When I was in Young Women, as a MiaMaid, we would select a rose to be representative of who we are. I picked the white rose, because I loved the purity of it. But always I've loved the peace rose - one that starts out bright and happy in the color yellow, and then fades to gentle pinks as it ages. That's more representative of me, today, I think - trying, as I age, to adjust with the changes in my life and to turn them pink. In spite of life's storms swirling around me.