Spina etiam grata est, ex qua spectatur rosa.
(Publilius Syrus, Sententia 610)
Even a thornbush is a pleasing sight from which the rose is observed.
(Pron = SPEE-nah EH-tyam GRAH-tah ehst, eks kwah spek-TAH-toor ROH-sah.)
Comment: So, it really is a matter of perspective. I grew up “in the country”,
and I’ve suddenly come upon both the wild rose and the wild blackberry bush
which don’t really announce themselves unless they are in bloom or fruit.
Otherwise, one suddenly finds oneself entangled in bramble that is covered with
thousands of tiny, razor sharp thorns.
These thorns cut right through the toughest blue jeans, and the bleeding seems
interminable. Cursing ensues.
But, the same bramble of wild roses or blackberries can stop you cold—when you
see or smell the flowers (often, with the wild rose, the scent caught me long
before the thorns). When the blackberry is in fruit, the red, unripened ones
shine almost like little lights, and the black ones are almost dripping with
juice from the bush. Now, a ginger approach, and the flowers or the fruit are
the wonder to behold. No cursing. Only praise.
I have grown in my garden both cultivated roses and hybridized, thornless
blackberries. I likely will again. But, the roses mildew and require a great
deal more care than sometimes they are worth. The blackberries—well, they
create huge berries that are eye-appealing, but have little taste. There
really is something about the thornbush that make those wild roses or berries
We may encounter a thornbush today. Go ahead. Curse. Sooner or later,
though, the same thornbush will produce something sweet. The same thornbush
will evoke wonder.
(Used with permission)
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