Delicate and fragile, spent now, life seems over for the rose, but within its fading glory lies future promise, of fragrance and beauty. The circle will complete itself.
The rose seems to me to be a metaphor for Christchurch, fallen, sad and unlovely, but within there is much future promise too.
I feel optimistic. Is it that there is now a city plan after so many months of waiting, or is it simply that life does go on?
Maybe it is nothing more than the lingering beauty of the last bloom, before a day of pruning. But this last rose of the season gives me cause to be optimistic. And that’s a good feeling.