Wild Roses in Summer
"Love not the flower they pluck, and know it not,
The Same in Autumn
"Civilization began with a rose. A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose."
—Gertrude Stein (1874-1956)
Wild roses on the bank of Maria's River briefly inject flaming red-and-orange highlights, sans scent, into the tan-and-taupe pallette of the high prairie in autumn. When they're gone, the branches hold out bright red hips for the nourishment of "the feathered tribes," and the delectation of tea-drinkers. In the background is the downstream face of Tiber Dam.