Rose from Prieuré de Saint-Cosme, Joué-lès-Tours (Indre-et-Loire)

I think that this picture is a comment on your state of heart. It's a picture that speaks of softness, trust and faith in life itself. It's very pleasant to look at and it has a very feminine touch. I can tell that you grew up in France for a part of your life...Most American males find their feminine side a thing to be ashamed of. In France, it's considered a quality and it has nothing to do with being gay.This world is hell bent to burn and sterilize that side of us but some of us haven't given up...I call that toughness.

 

Leo, thank you for the "echo". I appreciate your thought.

 

Teresa, thank again. I like the composition on this shot as well. (BTW, that other thing is still happening, I'll contact you this week:)

 

Adan, glad the shot pleased you, and you are welcome.

 

Linda, thanks for relieving me of that worry !!:) I'll go take another look.

 

Drew, welcome back and thank you. I love the way the rose just sort of emerges gently from the background.

 

Marta, thanks. While we don't have flowers blooming yet here (or they are just beginning), I went back into the library and selected a couple of shots from France just to help our spring along :)

 

Pascal, for once words fail me. Here I go in an earlier post to Tim (above) and say that he, you and I would have been in the back of the class causing trouble when we were kids and then you come up with this (and you ought to see what he said about the wide shot at Saint Cosme)! This is one reason I treasure our friendship and the time we spent together. Thank you.

In our garden is a rosebush that produces buds that begin yellow. They soon take on the colours of this beautiful rose then fade to pink before their petals fall. It is Paul's, my husband, favorite rose. It is called a Scottish Tartan. For our sixteenth wedding anniversary I wrote him this poem ; before your photo, before our rosebush was planted.

I hope you like it.

deborah

 

A Rose by deborah elaine barrie 1989©

 

A rose is but a flower

 

That blossoms ‘neath the sun

 

A radiant expression

 

Of love that’s just begun

 

So delicate its beauty

 

Aroma oh so sweet

 

But like all burning passion

 

It withers at your feet

 

Our love is not a flower

 

To blossom then to die

 

To leave just lovely memories

 

Without us knowing why

 

No our love’s like the sunshine

 

Sometimes it shines so bright

 

And sometimes in life’s fury

 

It’s hidden by the night

 

As solid as a mountain

 

This love that we both share

 

For in the mornings dawning

 

Our love is shining there.

 

 

... it is such a pleasure to see work like yours associated with my shots. You are creating a unique subculture here, and it is a delight to follow.

Thanks so much Dennis. I am glad that you liked it.

deborah