Short Story Preview: The Last Rose of Summer – Josie Arden
Italian pink; full-blown; fragrant to a point of ecstasy. She climbs through the fir tree and emerges six feet up, dramatic, smiling, benign.
For me, living alone, I see her as my friend. Yearly, she enchants me from May to November. Now, in late August, with all other flowers gone, she’s still there. But she only ever spares me one bloom at a time, so I could never pick her – this star of my garden. I love her too much.
But humans are fickle. I met a new love in the park today. Stole my heart away.
Picture the glossy black curls, some piled high, some tumbling down her back…dancing green eyes with lashes fluttering like butterfly wings…full red lips that never stopped smiling…Oh!
But I musn’t bore you.
I scratch a creative living as a photographer, artist, designer.