Discovery walks

On a stretch of ground on a corner in my neighborhood, beside a fence that long ago was new and painted white with young rose bushes planted along each post, is a tree still bare of any new growth. The rose bushes have stretched and woven their way along and around the fence, hiding a few boards missing here and there, hiding the worn and faded paint. One rose bush has grown a different direction. That one wraps around the tree. The most robust of all the bushes, it has climbed its way upwards and through the tree's bare branches. The bush is in full bloom, with fat pale pink roses bursting all over, climbing high. The tree is covered in blooms and scents not its own, a veil of beauty.

Each morning, I stand beneath the tree's branches and look at the roses blooming there and I think of my parents, and this song whispers through the clouds of my mind.

Plant a rose tree on his grave
And on mine plant a vine,
As seasons pass and markers fade
Watch them slowly intertwine
I’ve heard all the stories told about love(till death do us part)
But our love is a vow which has been wrought
From heart to heart

Cowboy Junkies, White Sail