on a busy tuesday morning he came across a rose – no roots. scarred by sons rays. but it was the most beautiful rose he had ever laid eyes on. he was a poor nurturer of roses, and by this morning his garden was fallow – deprived of the sweet smell and beauty of any rose. but he knows a good rose – scars and all – when he sees one. where has this rootless rose come from, he wondered. they had met twice before – fleetingly at an expensive upmarket groomers yard. that tuesday morning he was surrounded by wild and feral flowers – young and old. that tuesday morning the rose came into his garden. broken but sweet smelling. the gloss of those two previous meetings gone. he starts to nurture the rose – peeling off layers of worn petals. petals damaged by sons rays. the sons ray must become a nurturer. something he has never done. but a certain cosmic force had brought the sons ray and the rose together for a purpose. for in nurturing, the sons ray found nurture. today the rose blossoms beautyfully – nurturing other roses in his garden. recourses bring back past ray burns. the sons ray knows his job is far from complete. he knows his essence lies in the rose. he lies besides the rose this moment knowing how life would have turned out if he hadn’t found the rose.

Copyright © Fani-Kayode Omoregie 2008