It’s actually two different pink roses. I think they look rather nice.
Taken with my smartphone on a walk (me being the one on a walk, not the smartphone, unless you count the smartphone being on a walk too, since I had it with me), while passing by someone’s garden. Which is the standard for Some Photoblog in 2021, it seems.
There might soon be some different content.
Or then again, there might not.
Who is to know. But I am really happy that there are some nice gardens in my neighbourhood.
My last post was a white rose, and I mentioned that white rose is the symbol of Yorkshire and red rose of Lancashire. Well, pink is a mixture of red and white, so here you have it.
I uploaded this photo to my blog months ago–I think I intended for it to be included in a post (probably this one) but then changed my mind and decided to wait for a better occasion. Now is that occasion.
The rose looks a bit withered, I think I probably had had it for a while. It does spark one’s imagination, though. Maybe the lady who received the rose died of consumption and the man who loved her wants to keep the rose, together with her journal, in memory of her.
Ain’t that bleak? Bronte sisters would be proud!
Or imagine journaling with your friend, whose name is Rose.
Communists used to be big on IWD, as I remember, though it’s not like they went deep with it; nothing about women’s rights or anything. Worker’s union (there was only one) would give female employees in all workplaces a flower–a single carnation–and a small present and afterwards there would be little celebrations or a parties. It was just an opportunity for them to pat themselves on the back, look how great we are and respect women! Also, because at that time we didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day, kids at school would make presents for their mums, like a handmade card or similar.
Every weekend a new storm. Every day, constant rain. If it’s not raining, it’s windy. It’s cold. It’s bleak. You doubt if spring and summer really exist, if they’re not just a product of your imagination.
So you stay at home. The only thing you have is a bunch of half faded roses you bought yourself for Valentine’s. At this rate, you’re soon fade too.
Apologies for the terrible purple prose but I’m so over this atrocious weather!
As I say every year, Valentine’s Day is nothing to me. I chose singledom. But it can’t be denied that it offers very aesthetically pleasing opportunities for photography. Or art in general. And stories and poems and songs and important essays about relationships–it’s certainly good for creativity. For better or worse.
You can always be your own valentine if there’s no one else. At least then you don’t have to share any chocolate.
The title of today’s post comes from–guess who–my favourite heroine, Anne Shirley aka Anne of Green Gables. A June Evening is a name of a chapter of the third book, Anne of the Island. Here I give you some of my photographs taken this month:
Anne: “I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.”
Marilla: “You’d get tired of it.”
Anne: “I daresay, but just now I feel that it would take me a long time to get tired of it, if it were all as charming as today. Everything loves June.”
I think it’s great that Anne has appreciation for living in a world where there are Junes as well as Octobers!
And how about you, dear reader? Do you also love the month of June and wish it went on for longer? Or do you prefer the cooler months? Share your thoughts in the comments!