I think it's been at least two years, if not three, since Brigadoon bloomed for me. Just last year I noticed that much of the bark and wood at her base had splinterchipped away. Natural aging, I guess. What more to expect of a rose that spent her youth containerbound before being tucked away in a deeply shaded, treerootbound, oft-neglected rose garden?
I took a picture of her single bud this spring, fully expecting that it might not mature. Was I ever wrong, in just this week when I needed a gentle reminder that miracles happen all around us every day of our lives . . .
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