"What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet." ~ Juliet, from Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet
This is a Cinderella rose story. I would like to call it a Juliet rose story, but things did not work out as well for Juliet as they did for this rose, found on a New Jersey beach where it had lain for an undermined time, fighting the elements of sun and surf as it watched its companion die, all the while begging to be rescued. Only a child or a photographer would have heard her plea. Some photographers, yours truly, have two sets of eyes, those of both photographer and child. Oh, Romeo, Romeo, open thine eyes. I can't pass up the urge to interject the star-crossed lover's story.
Romeo, believing his beloved Juliet was dead after being put into a death-like coma by by a Friar, poisoned himself at Juliet's crypt. As the story goes, Juliet awoke from her crypt, and finding Romeo dead, stabbed herself with his dagger. Unlike Romeo, I had the foresight to see life through this corpse of my rose, and her story ended much better than a Shakespearean tragedy.
After checking the pulse of the carnation, I knew there was no hope, so I plucked the rose from the jaws of death - there is a time for dying, and this was not her time, and carried her around town, getting expected strange looks as we made our way to a restaurant where I had planned to hydrate my rose in a glass of water. We were a good distance from the restaurant, but like finding water in the desert, we came upon a fountain, where I gently washed away the sand. At the restaurant, the waiter brought me a glass of water for my rose, accompanied with a non-romantic look in his eyes. During lunch, as I wathced life returning to the rose, I carefully peeled off the dead leaves, and before we left the restaurant she was once again a thing of beauty. I carried her back to our room, gave her a fresh glass of cool water, and she lived throughout our stay. When we left, I took her petals and scattered them to the wind. "Well," You say, "The rose died, anyway." Not so. She lives eternal in these photos. And she died with dignity.
The "why" of how the two flowers ended up on the beach, will forever remain a mystery. Who would have thrown their flowers to the wind? Did someone get married on a yacht, the flowers blown into the blueness of the ocean in a mighty gust of wind? Was it a reconciliation gone wrong? Perhaps a memorial at sea? No one knows but the rose.
~ ~ ~
Washed up with the seashells or thrown away?
The Fountain of Youth
In the restaurant, she takes a good long drink of water.
Between bites of my sandwich, I gently peeled off the dead leaves.
Back in our room..."A thing of beauty is a joy forever."