The Yellow Roses

One of the great joys in life can be the simple act of walking along a beach looking for treasure that has washed ashore. That is what I was doing this past week when I came across the above scene. I snapped a picture of it to share with both of my readers. It was a quiet scene. The ocean that roared with fury the week before and tossed large concrete slabs like tinker toys was now docile having spent its tempest. Gentle waves drifted ashore hastened by the stiff and dying breeze while graceful gulls hovered above waiting for any morsel of food to reveal itself upon the waters edge.  

And there they lay. Two yellow roses snuggled together as lovers spent from a night of intimate passion while gentle waves urg them to come play in the surf. How did they get here I thought. Surely they must be missed by their owner. As I thought about it more a melancholy settled upon my shoulders. How did they get here?

I picture a beautiful young and nimble woman with flowing red hair standing on the crest of the butte with a long time male friend. She decided that she was such good friends with him that she would not ruin it by crossing the line into romance. His heart was broken when she told him “lets just be friends.” He loved her so much that he was willing to be close to her in any way hoping she would change her mind, eventually.

So out they go on Saturday night to have fun as friends. After a perfect night of dancing they end up on the beach under the stars while the full and glowing moon lights their way as if guided by a divine torch. They talk quietly and enjoy the magical moment as she clutches the yellow roses in her hands. She now secretly wishes they were red but a decision is a decision and she is not one to easily change her mind. He then tells her that the next day will be his last with her. He is moving and it is far too painful to continue to be friends. She screams and cries and pushes him away her redolent hair flashing in the brilliant moonlight. She is even more beautiful when angry, he thinks to himself. She continues to assault him with question after question until she finally drives him away.

She stands alone crying in the now frigid night. She remembers the yellow roses in her hand and cries that they are not red. What has she done. Her temper once again flairs and she casts the roses into the sea. They descend into the boiling surf and are swallowed in the night.

Or did she walk quietly along the beach dropping them one by one as if she hangs onto them a little longer he might not leave.

Or did she finally tell him that she loves him more than life itself while casting the roses into the sea and kissing him deeply, then demanding he replace them with red roses. Did he wrestle them away from her and throw them down himself and tell her they should be red and that he loves her? Did she find it in her to tell him the truth and risk loving him outwardly?

There are so many possibilities.

But one thing I noticed was that through all the turmoil of the tidal surf two roses manage to stay together. Two roses were bound together and even the mighty power of the ocean could not tear them apart. Perhaps it’s not too late for these two after all, for if two roses can survive the roil of a storm a rose by any other color should smell so sweet.

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