The 60-degree weather we’ve had of late is nice, but disturbing. I fear for the buds that have appeared on the cherries and hydrangeas – all will be decimated once the customary winter hits. In the meantime, however, roses still bloom and fall-colored leaves still dangle. There is something fun about that, some way-late-season celebratory spark that accompanies the disorienting notion of roses in December.
These pink beauties were smiling at me from the Southwest Corridor Park the last time I was in Boston. I paused to snap a few photos, while another on-looker marveled at them too. She said they were almost like holiday decorations.
Such extremes are indications of global warming and climate change, so the sight of these beautiful roses comes with certain consternation. As much as I enjoy the reprieve from the cruelty of winter, I also know the importance of a steady frozen groundwork for the survival and well-being of plants in the Northeast. Beauty and relief today may spell disaster for tomorrow. I’d rather go through the ritual and pay the dues now.
That said, these roses are indeed beautiful, and their incongruent appearance in the last month of the year shall be taken as a blessing. Maybe the winter won’t be so bad. Even if it is, the memory of beauty lingers, the feeling resulting from warm sunlight in December remains.
