It was too bright. Not a blush pink, but a passion pink, deep, wholesome and searing in color. The petite creation exuded a warmth, a power, a delicate grace. In between the coiled snout of the rosebud, each petal rolling itself gently round a central point, invisible, yet not intangible, an aroma seeped out. It was gentle and lilting, it curved and swayed, intertwining alongside the fine wind currents, like grains of sand on a rugged beach. The rose’s aroma and the summer breeze sang a song which spread tentative fingers out, alongside chlorophyll veins, pulsating a hot pink passion.
Copyright: Victoria O