The full-on rose show will last about two or three weeks, says Wyn Drabble . Photo / File
There I was preparing a modest dinner and gazing out the kitchen window. Outside, before my eyes, were buds and blossoms and a bonanza of burgeoning blooms. The display was far from modest.
Of course, I was thrilled but, as I swept my gaze across the flora, I found myself holding up my hands and uttering the imperative, "Stop, stop, stop!"
Why? Because you get such a limited time to enjoy everything reaching fruition and soon will come the aphids, the straggly branches, the dead-heading, the extra weeding, the black spot, the smaller flowers of the second flush. Soon it will be mostly downhill.
Already the earliest roses have swelled to magnificence, opened up their skirts fully then dropped their colour to the ground in a natural display of undressing.
All I was asking for was the climax to last a bit longer. All I wanted was more time to enjoy nature's splendour.
But it won't happen. That's not the way the system operates. The full-on rose show will last about two or three weeks and that's the reward for all the careful pruning, weeding, feeding and conversations of encouragement.
Yes, I talk to them but I'm careful not to use big words. I would never, for example, use the word "diaphanous" when conversing with a rose. I would never use "impecunious" when trying to explain how much their kelp food had cost me.
Yes, there will be plenty of roses after the short peak and even right through to the start of winter but they will never provide the wall-to-wall colour of this first flush.
And it's not just the roses. The tall foxgloves and delphiniums will begin to tire, they will start to lean and become discoloured. Eventually they will give up the ghost.
The four wire-netting towers I fashioned for the sweet peas are working a treat. After months of tenaciously twisting their tendrils around the wire-netting, the plants will soon produce sweet-smelling blooms of nature's best colour palette.
But then they too will start to wither and become little more than pea straw.
Eventually, even the lavender will start its journey towards hibernal hibernation. Begonias will bite the dust, cornflowers will call it quits, snapdragons will slip away, lobelia will lapse, polyanthus will pass away, pansies will peter out, marigolds will meet their maker, wallflowers will wilt and wind up their innings.
Only the violets will continue their verdant vigil though, for their flowers and perfume, we will need to wait.
What makes it all even harder to bear is that during these few weeks of floral climax I am away at work most of the time. It really is the sort of display that calls for you to sit and admire, to engage in some olfaction (another word I would never use when conversing with a rose).
Perhaps the experience could be complemented by a glass of cool summer wine.
Farmers must make hay while the sun shines. Gardeners must too. They must appreciate this peak time of the year, appreciate that they helped this to happen, appreciate that nature is cyclic.
Autumn will come but "falling leaves hide the path so quietly". (John Bailey)
"All the trees are losing their leaves and not one of them is worried." (Donald Miller)
In winter the rose bushes will become straggly sticks again. "What good is the warmth of summer without the cold of winter to give it sweetness." (John Steinbeck)
So, I know the wonder will return but, if I can't hit a pause button for the present, I just want to make the most of this offering while it lasts.
Please pass me that glass of wine.
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.