A preamble of sorts for the recounting of this year’s BroSox Adventures (coming up this weekend), this post celebrates the roses that were in bloom when last we were in Boston. It seemed that every square or garden we passed had some sort of rose show happening – the glorious sign that June was at hand and summer had, or was just about to, arrive. This first flush is usually the biggest and best, and it did not disappoint. They were tumbling off their trellises, rising and arching like some colorful fountain of fragrant petals. The red ones seen here were found along the Southwest Corridor Park, whose garden plots have been lovingly brought to beautiful life over the last decade or so.
Roses carry a nostalgic pull for me, which is partly why I’ve embraced so many rose fragrances over recent years. They’re a way of bringing summer memories and magic to the coldest winter days, the scent a comforting reminder that no matter what, summer will always come again.
