We do not remember days. We remember moments. – Cesare Pavese
If I close my eyes, I can almost remember the lush fragrance from last summer’s roses. Maybe it isn’t the exact flower that I remember, though– maybe I cherish the sweet smell of a garden flower because of what was going on around me. Boys running barefoot through the damp grass, chasing our Labradoodle puppy. The happy yelps and laughter from a game of slippery chase nearby. The warmth of the sun chasing away Prague’s morning fog, the simple promise of a quiet day. Well, not quiet as far as noise (because it’s always loud in my house), but quiet as in home and rest and family. That is what I love. And maybe that is the reason I love roses. For the moments they represent.