In the Mirror...a Rose

Who is that old wizened woman looming in my mirrored glass? Her eyes...dark like rich soil spread out over the roots of a rose in her garden. Her skin once soft and peach-hued like petals now faded, wrinkled and sprinkled with coffee-colored flecks.

Her stalk hovers on its axis in a constant battle with GRAVITY. It pulls the stem downward into an unbalanced stance. Her neck is a bulging rosehip that sags. Vibrant strands of hair like adorning sepals are now thinned and withered.

Long life has brought seasonal pruning. Many lost branches had once strengthened her in younger days. Now, a yearning...for her family, her friends and especially the younger buds that once jiggled and wiggled next to her in the morning sun.

Oh, but as the days, weeks and months elapsed, her thorns multiplied! Each one a pointed sharp arc that survived brutal wintry winds, torrential downpours, summer droughts and dreaded diseases.

Her thorns have hardened, ready to poke invaders or neighboring pests. She fights back at any black beetles that chew and gnaw at her leaves.

Today, in her garden, she is still alive but worn. She still strives with her weathered stance of a stalk. In the sun, she gazes outward at her new branches with new buds blooming on the horizon.

Trish Commons 8/28/25