![\"FadedRoseDec\"](\"http:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/wp-content\/gallery\/Autumn\/FadedRoseDec.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Roses, Late Summer<\/p>\n
What happens<\/em> to the singing birds<\/em> Do you think there is any<\/em> the other side of that darkness,<\/em> to live in the valley.<\/em> in the dark sky.<\/em> and are giving it back to the world.<\/em> I would be a fox, or a tree<\/em> Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.<\/em> -Mary Oliver<\/p>\n Today I went back to the rose garden to see what I might\u00a0 be able to do with faded roses. I didn’t want to go, I had to drag myself out the door. (I think my thermometer is broken, it keeps telling me it is 30 degrees even in mid afternoon).\u00a0 But once I got there I was just blown away by the subtle beauty and muted colors I was finding. I could easily finish out the 100 days with rose pictures. But I have a few other things in mind. I may just inundate you with Mary Oliver though. I’ve run through all the good autumn poems and I’m getting really tired of wading through all the crap that gets posted on hello poetry;\u00a0 but Mary always has something to say that’s worth listening to. And she is my all time favorite poet. But we’ll see where the next four days take us.<\/p>\n \n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Roses, Late Summer What happens to the leaves after they turn red and golden and fall away? What happens to the singing birds when they can’t sing any longer? What happens to their quick wings? Do you think there is any personal heaven for any of us? Do you think anyone, the other side of … Continue reading Day 96 – Faded Rose<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[29,8,16,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1245","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-autumn","category-flora","category-macrocloseup","category-nature"],"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1245","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1245"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1245\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1248,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1245\/revisions\/1248"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1245"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1245"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jeannehoadley.com\/Photo15\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1245"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nto the leaves after<\/em>
\nthey turn red and golden and fall<\/em>
\naway? What happens<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhen they can’t sing<\/em>
\nany longer? What happens<\/em>
\nto their quick wings?<\/em><\/p>\n
\npersonal heaven<\/em>
\nfor any of us?<\/em>
\nDo you think anyone,<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwill call to us, meaning us?<\/em>
\nBeyond the trees<\/em>
\nthe foxes keep teaching their children<\/em><\/p>\n
\nso they never seem to vanish, they are always there<\/em>
\nin the blossom of the light<\/em>
\nthat stands up every morning<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAnd over one more set of hills,<\/em>
\nalong the sea,<\/em>
\nthe last roses have opened their factories of sweetness<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIf I had another life<\/em>
\nI would want to spend it all on some<\/em>
\nunstinting happiness.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nfull of waving branches.<\/em>
\nI wouldn’t mind being a rose<\/em>
\nin a field full of roses.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nReason they have not yet thought of.<\/em>
\nNeither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.<\/em>
\nOr any other foolish question.<\/em><\/p>\n