Rose

on

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.