I mean, on the really extreme days, the mercury sometimes climbs as high as EIGHTY degrees. Absolutely blistering, am I right?
I know. You'd think that seven weeks in the steaming jungles of Southeast Asia would have toughened me up but my Northern European DNA is just not having it.
So it is a sweet and magical moment when my panting dog and I round the corner into our neighborhood, and cross the street to our yard. Because that is when my eyes fall upon this sight.
Rich green leaves that lie in deep shade.
Delicate, cheery blossoms sprinkled gaily across the greenery.
Watercolor petals that fade from brilliant red-orange to soft pink and peach as the buds unfurl.
Vibrant yellow centers that seem to glow with potent fairy dust.
Every single thing about this rose bush is so restful and happy and full of charm that I forget about my overheated head and my thirsty throat. And I remember once again how lovely it is to be welcomed home by a rose.