I remember the sharp pain well.
Walking too quickly to be able to stop dead in my tracks, the nasty, reaching cane of a Multiflora Rose had snagged my cheek and, with my forward motion, torn a path across it. I suppose I should have been glad, later imagining the possibilities of such a run-in, that it was not my eye, caught and held with its strong, curved thorn. Weeks later, only the faintest mark remained.
But the sting of a rose is like any other betrayal.
A lesson is always learned.
I have grown wiser, now, and move gingerly among them. Better to avoid all contact, than to think a glancing touch will fall aside. Coverings of heavy denim or leather offer only false protection. For the arching stems easily latch on and, once in the midst of them, as in quicksand, struggle is futile.
But, on this wintry day, when all else has faded to brown, I find my eye caught on them.
brightly glossed in morning light,
where bumbling bees last summer visited
the clusters of tender white flowers
that covered these long reaching canes,
grace the field in red.
"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.