I spied it early this morning –the first one here of the year –
nestled in the grass near the road's bend.
Then I r
e
m
e
m
b
e
r
e
d
her –
my father's mother – just as she had remembered her father's mother.
Both held a passion for its delicate pink petals, golden centers and leafy greens.
Maybe someday – I too will be "father's mother" who passes on this skip-a-generation passion for seeking summer's First Wild Rose.
