To love a climbing rose means to accept it in all seasons. Last week it was at its peak, green and pink and aromatic, bursting with life.

This week, there are as many petals on the deck as on the flowers. Today, when the wind blows, it’s raining roses. There are puddles of petals at my feet.

It’s easy to mourn the end of the plant’s most bountiful blooming season.  But there is such beauty in the spent blossoms.