The Rose at Noon yarn but in remembrance: of those

but in remembrance: of those who found divinity in the margins

Beneath the surface

thumb brushing its surface as if to steady it

darker and thicker than most

It marks the moment more than any clock could

The Rose at Noon yarn but in remembrance: of thoseThe garden wasnt left to grow wild, not here. Beds were kept in order, paths cleared, stems cut back before they could tangle into each other. Roses were watched closely not for beauty, but for timing. Too early and they wouldnt hold. Too late and theyd fall apart the moment they were touched. Now, she said, handing over the shears. He hesitated just long enough to make it obvious. Youll miss it, she added. The cut was clean, just below the node. The