Okay, so you might have guessed that I love rosepetals. I even love the name, which dances on my tongue like fine wine. Rosepetals make me think of beautiful things like long summer afternoons, big, bright blue skies or sunrises mirrored in a lake’s surface. I love their wonderful fragrance and the soft, velvety feel of a rosepetal as it caresses my cheek like a lover.
Rosepetals are synonymous with romance. How many times have I seen them strewn about by little girls on wedding days to welcome a glowing bride? As for men, well, I’m confident the evening will go well if I see that a guy has made a path of rosepetals leading to the boudoir. And who could forget the scene from “American Beauty” in which Kevin Spacey fantasizes about rose petals falling on cheerleader Angela?
I’ve even dreamt of rosepetals: lots of pink ones flowing from striped boxes and shimmering in oil paintings hung on the wall. I’d say I’m a dreamer when I awake, too. I love laughter, friends and fun. I love happy endings in movies and am not afraid to cry when the guy finally gets the girl. I guess you could say I look at life through rose(petal)-colored glasses.
You’ll see my feistier side in other posts, but for now I’m caught up in a vision of red and white and pink rose petals blowing in the breeze, their fragrance tickling my senses and tantalizing my soul. Life is good, you know?