John Roses

The tiny pink roses on my kitchen window sill bring a smile to my face each spring when they bloom.
My grandmother called them "seven sisters".  I call them John Roses.

When Rick and I first married, one of our dearest friends was John.  He was big and loud, smart and funny and had the most loving heart of anyone I had ever known.  He and his wife Linda lived on a small farm a few miles from us.  One day I mentioned the seven sisters roses that grew in my grandmother's garden and how I would love to have them in our yard.  John smiled and told me they were growing wild on their farm and he would bring me a bush.

In 1993, during a spring blizzard here in Alabama
( we had 18 inches of snow, in March) John died.
Our world of friends has never been the same.
The little rose bush John gave me, seemed to know how much we missed him.  It too, became bigger than life.  It now has a diameter of around 50 feet and it's tiny pink roses look like a pink cloud at the corner of our property. I filled the house with John Roses today and remembered  with love and many smiles our friend, John.