27/05/2026
Roses and the Young Child
A few rose bushes grow by the steps, blooming freely without artifice. Their blossoms range from deep crimson to soft pink. Layered petals, simple and full, lean gently against the low wall, bathed in breeze and sunlight from dawn till dusk.
A young neighbor boy, no more than six or seven years old, often lingers beside the flowers. He never plucks a bloom nor makes a sound. Crouching quietly, he brushes his fingertips lightly over the petals. He watches bees and butterflies flit among the blossoms, and the flower shadows shift slowly as the sun travels across the sky.
A child’s heart is pure and clear; the flowers exude calm and peace. The blooms flourish in their own way, and the boy rests in quiet contentment. They disturb not one another, yet keep each other gentle company. Such ordinary scenes of life hold the purest charm. Amid all the glitz and bustle of the world, nothing compares to this small courtyard — a flower, a child, and a quiet moment, plain yet infinitely tender.