Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world.
-The Little Prince, Antoine de St. Exupery
I cannot offer you an image of Saturday's rose because she is gone. She was cut, in innocence, by my wife who didn't know I was writing this series for you. The rose is in good hands now, off in Boston where my wife flew with her on a trip to see our children, their spouses, and our grandchild. Our rose has performed her service for you and endures, now, on what water she sips through the straw of her cut stem.
What is, after all, the role of a rose? From her standpoint, she has no "role" since role's are masks humans take on. The rose can only be true to who she is - beautiful and pink and delicious across her prime, now dying in a land far from where she grew...