Mason Dixon and I were on the road the other day on all six feet when we noticed something really sad.
Let me back up a step or two.
There’s a house on our daily walk that’s been empty for at least a year, probably 2. I can’t remember if someone lived there when I first started noticing it about 3 years ago.
The house is pretty unremarkable, but in front of the house, abutted against the sidewalk, were rose bushes. They’d always bloom exceptionally gorgeous blossoms at unusual times of the year (because I’m a rose expert).
Last summer, stumbling walking home from the bar, I stopped to admire the roses I’d been adoring for years. A few glasses of wine in, I was fearless removing a bud.
I took it home, immediately put it in water and found it DOA the next morning. I’ve never seen a flower die in a day. Flat out dead. Like a corpse.
Spooky!
Last week, I walked by again and noticed another bud that looked exactly like the one I picked last year. I took my chances and picked it again. Brought it home, put it in water in a glass I stole was given from a different bar.
I was compelled to photograph it. Maybe because last year’s bud only lasted five seconds.
This is the bud:
Not the best photo quality, but at the time I didn’t have a purpose (or blog) in mind. Just wanted to capture the image for my own delight.
The next day when Mason D and I walked by, we were stopped in our tracks in shock. (When I say “we were stopped in our tracks,” I mean “I was stopped in my tracks,” and Mason’s leash suddenly tightened and unexpectedly jerked his neck.)
As part of a recent renovation initiative, the rose bushes were cut! Heartlessly hacked away, torn from my world.
Do you see that? There used to be rose bushes there! Right there! The horror.
Mason’s all, “Wasn’t there something that smelled pretty dope right around here?”
Ok, Mason doesn’t talk like a 90′s rap star, but he was still noticeably concerned. Look at that face of confusion!
Y’all, that is the face of devastation.
And the sound of me projecting.
I’m about to get really cliched on your asses, but here goes nothing: it pays to stop and smell the roses because tomorrow someone’s gonna’ hack them away.
I kept the bud in the glass for a couple days. I kind of hoped it was going to live forever, but eventually it did croak.
Is it considered trespassing and theft if I dig up the roots in the middle of the night?
Who’s in?
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