A man wearing out of style cargo shorts carrying wrapping paper and snippers was obliviously casually, searching and strolling through a beautifully manicured battle field of hyacinth, snowdrops, crocus, geraniums and marigolds. These flowers all framed and protected the Queens of the garden, the aromatic Roses. It was an ongoing battle of the flowers repelling insects, a living little known blood bath. If some larger critter, wild or civilized, stomped on the battlefield below, those beautiful roses would slice their hands, arms, legs and mouth with their thorns.
Roses appeared to the man as beautiful multi-petaled, multi-colored flowers with a stunning, shimmering kiss gently exploding from their centers. He understood the thorns but was completely unaware of all the floral protection provided to the roses by the nature of their being so he tramped on the flowers and crushed many. This would make the insects happy if they actually expressed happiness.
Roses whisper to people and so they did to this man. They yelled in a whisper, ” Stop smashing our bug repelling flowers, loser.” Then the man realized he had a possible picking opportunity with everyday all day sun, some cool lace and ferns for a nice vase for an apartment and best of all no bug attacks. It didn’t go unnoticed by the roses that this might be a shorter life, but that quality has its benefits.
The reds whispered first about passion, romance, and spoke of love silently breathing ” I love you;” Whites whispered about purity, innocence, and a fresh start; Lavenders whispered engagingly about “Love at first site;” Oranges whispered about passion, and enthusiasm in a relationship with another; Greens whispered about constant “rejuvenation of the soul.” All the man had to do was listen or hallucinate.
The roses were all whispering rapidly to the man. Each color was whispering one message over another. It was just a mass of buzzing confusion to the man. The man started waving his hands around in the air to scatter all the dive bombing bees that were now present. Suddenly, the non-present cicadas were attempting to raid the garden; he ducked. He wished that whoever was mowing a lawn would stop. He or she was interfering with his search and stroll through the rose garden.
The roses somehow understood that they did not control their ultimate destinies. (They were self aware enough to know they couldn’t run on their stems.)
The roses had come to the knowledge that by their nature they could participate in the destruction of anything good through their utilization by a representative of our species.
Roses might encourage serial murderers engaging in the recognition of his or her soul mate, someone with an equal desire to kill. Take a vase of roses empty them on a dead body, water and all. A street person may proceed with his or her activities by finding an another street person to love. The possibilities of the roses are discovered in discarded, old roses in the trash. There are even guys who will use roses to mislead a girl with whom they want simple “nut exploding” sex. “Here are some roses. I love you so let’s have sex.” She says, “No,” and their are another dead dozen roses for the the street people. Clearly, the life of a rose can be very complicated.
Roses, unfortunately for them, don’t determine who gives them and to whom they are given. Roses are not unlike people in this way, except roses can’t ultimately make a life choice. Roses whisper the same message whether you hear them whisper or not. In literature it is written because “A rose is a rose is a rose.” (Gertrude Stein) “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet…” (Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare.)
Finally, the man stops and let’s his head clear. The various messages of the roses begin to permeate his being. He says to himself I wonder if I can give more than one message to a woman if I give more than one colored rose in a bouquet. Why not? The mythology of rose colors allows it, but even if the mythology shook its petals in his face and said “No”, the man realizes he can say, “It’s my bouquet to give away, so I’ll do it my way. (Supposed to sound as silly as “Say Yes to the Dress”)
The searching garden walker decides he wants twelve roses. He first thinks traditionally about a dozen red roses; he’s always been a sucker for romance, but he realizes that’s not what he wants to convey. He examines all the roses and he says a dozen white roses, but he realizes thoughts of purity haven’t passed him but innocence has. Once again he concludes this is not what he wishes to convey. He thought maybe a dozen lavender roses: “Love at first sight.” Ridiculous, he thought.
He liked them all, however. He then remembered his thought that he was giving the roses, and he could give what he chose with his meaning. The recipient could interpret any message she chose or if she wanted his message she could ask him. He chose four red, four white and four lavender. Red a feeling of romance, White without expectations, Lavender positive loving supportive thoughts each time he sees her in pictures or in person.
The man carefully laid his wrapping paper on the ground outside of the garden as close to the roses as he could. He took his snippers and clipped four red roses, four lavender roses and four white roses. He pricked his fingers and legs on a couple of thorns. The thorns scratched and made him wince in pain, but he thought as Poison would sing…. “Every rose has its thorn.”
In spite of all the thoughts above good or bad, funny or not, to make her smile is enough.