A visit to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden in the breezing air on a June day. Through the blooming and alive Cranford Rose Garden where screaming floribundas drag you off your path and whining hybrid teas beg for your attention.
By August, the bushes have blended in with the ground and the petals have shriveled and been buried. But you must get over there before the cold will shut them all out for good. The creaking doors are being locked, but you step your foot in the way. A blooming magenta rose perking up as you approach it. Its bud, the only color showing, blinded by browns and dark greens of the fading season.