the long thin veil

these days leading up to halloween are the days when the veil between the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen, is the thinnest. supposedly, this is the easiest time to communicate with ancestors and other departed loved ones....

a few days ago, i thought maybe i ought to pay attention to that; to see if i could notice a feeling of something getting thinner. of something feeling closer.

the first thing i noticed was an unlikely rose in our front yard. not the "normal" time for a lovely soft yellow rose to bloom, in late october... and yet, there it was. it bravely stands atop a single stem... almost heavy enough to topple. but instead, it reaches high for our willow's branches. this is the kind of rose you don't appreciate or notice at summer's height. they're everywhere then. your eyes full of the feast of summer. your senses saturated.

now, in late october, the rose presents in another way.  

the grass is a deep green. the wet wet earth shows between blades. smells are damp and dying. the air crisp. sweaters make sense.  

pink and yellow are long forgotten colors. they've been replaced with pine, persimmon, pumpkin. even the color's names encourage you to keep your lips closed, to keep your body heat for yourself.

yet, look at this beauty. the same delicate petals. the same unfolding and curling out. the same veins filling the blossom with fleeting life.

not the same eyes though. not on this viewer, at least.  



a rose doesn't last two weeks in this weather, in this season, on this day. it quickly begins it's end. does it rush to turn into a ruby round hip? does it wish to pull the petals back in. shiver?

not this one. it has held on. even through a snowstorm with wind and accumulation last night. it's there. makes me think of o'henry's "the last leaf". a true masterpiece. a good reminder of expectations, and those roses that say,

"oh well, it was my time to bloom."

i am watching the rose test the veil. it's close to the dying time. it's putting as much life into the last moments as it can fit. it is opening when it's darn cold out there. it is accepting a snowstorm as part of it's story. it is willing to be that rose that draws attention to itself by blooming when it is the right time for it.

if the veil is thin right now, this rose is making it a long veil of that cusp moment between life and death. fall and winter. living and dying.

and i'm noticing it, feeling thankful for the experience of being with this rose as it lets go. the yellow rose makes me think of granny. the awareness of earth makes me think of grandpa. the reference to a piece of literature, grandma. oh, they're here alright.

they are with me.