For the past three days I have been bailing melted spring run-off water out of my basement. I shall return, but permit me to re-blog an old favourite today.
On my way out of the gardening shop I spotted these roses near the door.
“Wow! Are they real?”
They seemed too good to be true. They were –too good to be true, I mean. As soon as I felt them I knew they were paper. Pretty though.
I drove home singing an old Loretta Lynn song I used to hear crackling out of the plastic radio with the big gold dial that sat on top of Grandma’s fridge when I was a kid.
Paper roses paper roses oh how real those roses seem to be
But they’re only imitation like your imitation love for me…
That got me thinking about the nature of deceit and manipulation and feigned love. In the cold greyness of spring that doesn’t feel like spring, those paper roses were beautiful and you know, I can appreciate them just fine –until the real thing comes…
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