I remember the smell of my Dad's roses as I wandered through his gardens with my tiny bare feet,
And again they would be there each year as my feet grew bigger in the Spring to welcome new life,
My favorite was down by the front fence along the road,
It was a peach color and even now I can smell it just by closing my eyes,
It had an intoxicating smell which I cannot describe and it smelled like no other rose in the garden,
I would run my fingers over the soft petals taking in their silky smoothness,
My fingers would then guide me down and I would lean in for the first deep breath,
I smelled all of the flowers in my Dad's garden but never did one take me in and make me linger such as that one,
He decided one year to move the rose and in spite of knowing what a wonderful gardener my Dad was, I was scared I would never breathe that smell again,
We had other roses of the same color but none of the same smell,
He did move it successfully and I sighed in relief,
Even now each year I touch the petals, lean over and take in that first breath of peachy goodness,
My Dad knows how much I love that rose and all the others in his garden and upon my departure he often showers me with a bouquet,
I take the flowers home and dwell on that scent and their beauty,
I have pressed many roses into books and I am always amazed how they stay soft and how the smell lingers for years,
This peach rose is pressed instead into my heart, a stamp on my childhood I will not forget.
