A still life with yellow roses (Florence Julia Bach)
It's strange, I thought the roses would have been Red, perhaps pink, and not orange and yellow. Yet they are roses nonetheless, perhaps I don't think I'm in love if I don't bleed Or burst with all the pink of a sudden dawn. But I cannot deny this creeping warmth That starts from inside, a taper barely lit That grows and covers me all around with gold If only for a moment, then to hide Again behind the tyranny of my broken Expectations of a love I've never called My own. Perhaps love is a yellow rose.
I used to work every autumn at a place in which the giving and receiving of flowers was a big part of the culture, and yes indeed, it was absolutely expected for you to understand the language of colors.
What I found interesting was that experiencing this was very different from what some internet list might have you believe. Red roses symbolized love, sure, but either of a traditional or a naive kind. It's what young, inexperienced kids and couples celebrating anniversaries or milestones gave to one another.
Yellow roses, though? Well those were interesting, because they were fun and celebrated friendship. Coupled with white, they could be innocent enough. But friendship is often a wonderful basis for something deeper to emerge. There might even be a red tinge on the fringes of the petals that was deliberately chosen. (Would they notice?)
Thanks for the reminder, Thomas, and for the great writing as always.
You've put this wonderfully. I think it's one of my new favourites of yours. 💛