My mother had a rose bush outside our house in Colorado. Thankfully the smell of a roses doesn’t mother me, or remind me of my mother. It reminds me of my Nanny. A woman who took care of me for five years while my mother hunted.
She was a dragon. At the time I didn’t believe her. I was five. Dragon’s weren’t real.
But my Nanny use to sit by the rose bush and we would talk for hours. She would sing me songs I couldn’t understand. Tell me stories about her home or tales since long forgotten by man. But she remembered.
I miss her. I wish I remembered more about her. Knew her name. I’d like to thank her for those times by the rose bush and for the eternal care she had given me.