St Paul’s roses

My walk home from the ferry often takes me through the overlapping ground between St Paul’s church yard and the Grand Parade.  St Paul’s has a couple claims to fame:  it’s old, a Halifax “first”, but more dramatically, it has a spar lodged above its front door, embedded there during the 1917 Halifax Explosion in the harbour to its northeast. The Grand Parade is mostly brick and rather small as grand parades go, but with a centotaph that seems never undecorated with fresh bouquets, at least, and often wreathes.  

Although nothing is yet blooming in the modest pair of beds by the church’s front, the rose bushes are now newly cut back and show how thick they are.  The thorns are pink with their own newness and the stumps of the newly shorn branches are at least a half-inch across. I never can remember from one year to the next what colour any rosebush bears (except for the amazing yellow one in my former front yard). This makes for regular–and always pleasant–surprises.

Elsewhere, croci are become passe and more daffodils are in bloom than in waiting. Tulips have shown and unfurled their leaves but no flowers in this part of town. The stunning wall of lilac over on Lucknow street is a memory rather than a promise, as the hedge hasn’t even become tinged with green yet. Bob’s nursing a potted hydrangea toward planting full on in the garden.

I feel fortunate to have all these garden jewels happening around me, as my own thumb is black, although the eye is willing!

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