the queen of all flowers

learning from rose

Tender Mornings is a free newsletter. If you want to support this space and my writing, please consider becoming a paid subscriber and/or sharing excerpts of this publication with a friend. Thank you for being here. ♡

---

The Soul of the Rose by John William Waterhouse

I wouldn’t mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.

-An excerpt from Roses, Late Summer by Mary Oliver

Last night I dreamed of the rosa rugosa and the salt kisses of the sea. Immediately I awoke with yearning. With a desire to dive into the Hudson, swim with the tides until I am greeted with the Atlantic ocean. Befriend a narwhal or maybe a puffin, and ask them to accompany me to the nearest seaside where the beach roses gather. When I’d arrive, I’d kneel at the altar of the Rosaceae, stringing together a rosary of closed buds to the hymn of an unsung poem.

Riding tandem past farm fields, I spot her—a sweet briar winking at me. I jump off the bike and hold her tenderly. When the ride is finished, we look up at the sun. Bright red. Ominous. Calling us to take notice. We aren’t sure of what exactly until the next morning. 

We are sipping coffee over breakfast as we watch, from afar, the wild smoke drift over the valley. Rendering the air poison. I immediately worry about home. The animals. Plants. My friend with a heart condition. And of course, our baby. What will the air do to her lungs if we return? So we stay for another day, or three. Finding refuge in our friends. Their laughter. Their work. Their omelets and bread. I think about the wild roses the entire time. 

The Ancient Romans believed that bodies become flowers after death. In one Roman myth, Flora, the goddess of flowers, becomes despondent one day after finding a beloved nymph fallen on the forest floor. The heartbroken goddess gathers some of the gods to commemorate the life of her dear friend. Each comes bearing gifts. Flora places a crown of petals atop the young nymph’s head. Venus offers beauty. Dionysus, nectar. Mars provides thorns for protection. And finally, Apollo gives the breath of life. She transforms into a flower.

The day we lost the chickens, our roses bloomed.

When I was pregnant, I sometimes wondered how I would explain the world to my daughter. Her birth reminded me that the lessons of life can be found in nature. In the flora. The fauna. The poems we sing out to one another. All we have to do is pay attention.

This week we are learning from our Rose family. We watch as Beach Rose blooms despite the harsh conditions of the sea. Taking notice of how Dog Rose balances a tender heart laced with thorns. We spend our afternoons with Multiflora, reading to them as they unfurl their petals. Providing a portal of connection. Together we weave stories of remembering. We surrender to the joy. To the grief. To the knowing of what once was. And the unknowing of what is yet to come. It is this friendship with Rose that we learn the most important lesson of all—to live is an act of devotion.

---

soliflore: a year long series

Feeling called to connect to my writing practice, the presence in my step and the flower kin who I share a community with, I have decided to embark on a one year writing practice. Each week, I will work with a new flower in the hopes to deepen my relationship with both the world around me and the inner world within myself. This curious devotion will be found in the form of offerings: spending time with the flower, taking notice of how they move throughout each day, exploring their life through different forms, curating spaces for them to live both in the physical and imaginary realms, searching for them in stories, history, folklore, incorporating them into an essence, a drawing and ultimately a poem. I first discovered the word ‘soliflore’ through the name of a beautiful vase my friend’s Nico and Lea made and then gifted to me. Upon further research, I found that in the perfume world, a soliflore is a single floral aroma, but it is not just the scent of a flower alone that makes a soliflore but what comes from the collaboration between the plant and the perfumer. Each week, I will work alongside one flower to create a unique soliflore in the form of an essay. I hope that as I gather this anthology that you, too, will find a simple joy, an essence of kinship and small moments of tenderness that comes from this art of paying attention.

---