To whom does the rose belong?

I saw something strange this week.

In the dewy green grass by a bench and beneath a morning moon, lay abandoned this beautiful fresh white rose, long-stemmed and in full bloom.

I had been thinking a lot about grief; and lives and seasons ending. This rose lay underneath a light in the sky appointed for signs and seasons.

I left it there, untouched.

It spoke too much.

For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.