in a glass vase roses

in a glass vase roses --

petals fallen -- sprouting

new leaves from cut stems

Yellow roses for a birthday ceremony have been living in a glass vase on our dining table for two weeks. Before the petals began to wither, I was surprised to see leaf buds appearing along the stems. By the time the petals fell off, new leaves began sprouting.

I have never seen this happen, cut roses growing new leaves. No roots on the cut ends. Yet water is surging up the the stems, turning to sap, feeding this revival.

Devoid of petals, the center of the blossom reveals its hidden beauty.

It seems like a miracle, but perhaps this unexpected vigor is simply the result of these roses being grown organically.

Each sunny remnant is surrounded by five sepals, like a green star. Yesterday, as the old year ended, my uncle passed away. And now, on this first day of the new year, I reflect on how life springs anew from what appears to be dead roses.

summer solstice -- raindrops

summer solstice -- raindrops

spangle petals, seed heads,

a sagging spider web

Summer solstice came a day early this year, on the 20th of June instead of the 21st. But the longest day of the year made its presence felt as temperatures hit 90 F (32 C) with 52 % humidity. Then, after the shortest night of the year, we were blessed with a tiny bit of rain this morning, enough to bedeck with glistening drops an electric red rose blossom, the fuzzy golden seed head of a tree peony, the fireworks display of an allium seed head, and a drooping spider web.

bumble bee breaching

bumble bee breaching

the lure of saffron petals,

exchanging favors

The sweet-scented rose, rooted to the ground, waits with the intention to attract the services of the bumble bee. The airborne bee, randomly roaming, pursues the intention to gather nectar from blossoms. They meet, half by design, half by chance. The bumble bee, legs laden with gold dust, passes up buds and pale blooms until it lands on a deep apricot blossom. 

Perched on the ruffled petals, the bee searches for the entrance to the heart of the rose. It takes a big bee to find the opening among all those petals -- no little honey bees hovering around these roses. 

When the bumble bee locates the center of the blossom, it dives headfirst into the inner sanctum. 

They exchange favors -- the rose releases nectar to the bee, while the bee inadvertently deposits pollen from other flowers on the sticky stamens.

After long moments of probing, the bumble bee departs on its dark, transparent wings, leaving the fertilized flower to begin another cycle of waiting as the ovary swells and the petals fall away.

red rose after rain

red rose after rain

unfolding delicately

furled inner petals 

The rose bush outside our door keeps on blooming no matter what the weather, hot or cold, rain or drought, sun or clouds, wind or calm. It takes a long time for the blossom to fully open, exposing its sticky stigma on the chance that some wandering pollinator will be attracted to its fragrance. Even after frosty nights, which have killed most insects and sent the honey bees into their hives, the flower keeps unfolding, the thicker outer petals protecting the delicately-furled inner petals, still determined to accomplish its mission.

last rose of autumn

last rose of autumn --

tiny white crab spider guards

one red rose petal

The day before yesterday, the rose bush in the sheltered southeast side of the house still holds one rosebud and one unfolding rose blossom. In the warmth of the sun yesterday, it unfurls completely. With just a few large petals, it looks more like an Oriental poppy than a rose. This is not its usual appearance, as can be seen from last year's image of a many-petaled rose. Perhaps the drought forced the rosebush to conserve the number of petals on each blossom. Anyway, the poppy-like rose looks like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting. Intent on capturing the beauty of the blossom, I don't notice something sticking out from one petal, like a white thorn. When I move around for a different angle, I spot a tiny white crab spider perched on the edge of the petal, sitting in ambush, waiting to grab an unwary insect. Its two pairs of front legs stick straight out, appearing quite menacing despite its diminutive size. It holds that pose for a long time while I get up close and focus on taking its portrait. Then, perhaps weary of my scrutiny, it scuttles sideways behind the red curtain, ending the photo session. Last night, the temperature dropped to freezing. The soft green leaves of the dahlias are crumpled and their petals hang limp, like a crowd of women with long dripping wet hair. But the red rosebud has shed its protective overcoat and the full blossom still sits royally on its pedestal. No sign of the crab spider.