Since it’s rose pruning time, I’ve been thinking about how I’ve used the rose as a motif in my writing. Call them what you may, themes, sub-plots or symbols they are an important tool in creating an atmosphere in a story. They are also the things that anchor us to our past and our future.
Roses are to be admired. They adapt to time and place, they protect themselves with thorns and are strong enough to survive the storms. They die when their time is up to bloom again in the spring with bud after bud, flower after flower. They never give up.
I love roses. I find them beautiful throughout all stages of growth, but more importantly, they have been around forever – and have been valued throughout history for their beauty. Every style has a name, every colour has a meaning, every stage has a purpose.
They are clever too – people value them not only for their ornamental beauty, but for how useful they are. The rose hips have been used for medicinal purposes and in drinks for centuries. They are used in perfumes and oils, and in art. The rose has been depicted in thousands of songs, in paintings, on clothing, or as symbols of peace and war for as long as people have been around and longer.
I belong to several genealogy groups worldwide and the thousands of people involved are all looking for the same thing – a connection. They want to connect with their ancestors, to find out who they were, where they lived and what they did so they can make sense of who they are today. It’s all about the circle of life.
Going by the rose guides:
- Red roses are for love and romance, and represent beauty, courage and respect.
- Deep Pink/Magenta roses show appreciation and gratitude – a thank you.
- Yellow roses mean joy, delight, friendship. Remember me – I care.
- Peach shows gratitude and sincerity – I couldn’t have done it without you.
Which is your favourite colour? Do you have a special ‘rose’ memory?
“To me, the rose symbolises life. From a small, tight bud, like a newborn baby wrapped in a cocoon, before emerging into a perfect bloom, with its upright outer petals and deep heart, just like an adolescent. Then the sunshine spreads the petals further, just as we humans learn about life, absorbing both love and hate. Finally, the rose lies open and spent, exhausted by the seasons’ trauma of wind and rain, to slowly drop its petals and fade away, as do we who become old and invisible.”
– from ‘The Art of Secrets’, Vicky Adin
By Vicky Adin,
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