June roses are vastly different from August roses.
In June, all is hope and tenderness and promise.
In August, all is rich and resonant and ripe.
Most people prefer the rose in June – and most of me would agree – but one small and important part finds greater beauty in the August rose. They glow differently, because they know they are the last. They are sadder, and sweeter, for it.
Many garden perennials throw out a few blooms before fall arrives in earnest, and though they are usually smaller and less robust than their early summer counterparts, their colors feel richer and more vibrant. I’ve always felt for them a little more.
The end of August is always sad.
