flowers

I will miss the flowers of England, a place where roses grow like weeds.

This is a path in Wimbledon Park. Tim and I went running this morning. He's asleep in the photo but he stayed awake for most of it. When I ran down this path, I could smell the roses, even though I was breathing through my mouth.


This is a home in our neighbhorhood. I tried to grow roses in Arkansas and had some success, but it was hard work. As far as I can tell, roses grow here without any help at all. They are used as hedges and as decorations between lanes in traffic islands.

It's not just the roses that I'll miss. It's the lush greenness of the place. Colorado is beautiful, but it isn't lush.

This is a rhododendron in the neighborhood. It's about six feet tall.

Gardens in England are interesting things. They have a kind of organized wildness about them. Plants often grow on top of or through one another, but the result is pleasing. There are manicured and well trimmed gardens here, as there are everywhere. However, I think of these as the compulsory gardens of government: ordered and counted. Every country has these. The front gardens of the homes surrounding our flat are of the other variety. I've tried taking photos, but my eye can't capture the essence of wilderness, so you'll have to use your imagination. I'm not going to try to recreate an English garden at home. It just wouldn't work. So I have to say good-bye to these. I will miss them.

I've come to realize that even though I am leaving England and its flowers, Paul has made my whole life a place where roses grow like weeds.