If only. On my way to meet a friend for lunch in Williamsburg the other day I stopped to ponder the dried shrivelled blooms of this rose. Its bare thorny stems almost the identical shade of color of the equally grim chain link fence that supported it, stark against a cold clear winter sky. The only reason I did, is because I had stopped in my tracks in the exact same spot this past summer to admire this. A wish sprang into my head, too early I know, for this other, very different rose to return soon.
