The old lady stared at me

like I was a space alien. You see, its kind of a ruff neighborhood. I feel an unease in the air when I pull out my camera. What is she going to take a picture of? She could be casing a house.. or suing us.. or gathering some kind of evidence think the paranoid people around me.

But what I was doing was very obviously harmless. I took a picture of the rose bush in front of a church. It was, in fact, very pretty but people don't see it as much. There are, you see, too many rose bushes.

I've seen them all already. I could draw it from memory, but I feel so uninspired and there are already so many far better pictures of rose bushes. I could Google it and come up with 20 thousand now, free clipart. There is no reason to take a picture of these flowers, they are too pedestrian, too everyday. It seems so the masses they have almost fallen to the rank of dandelion.

I bet no one has ever given that little city of flowers a name. I call it, Rosehead, and if I ever see her again I will snap 500 pictures of her like some kind of a crazed rose paparazzi. That is, if I have any room left in my camera after all the dandelions I see on the way up there.

This all ran through my head as I walked by. I told the old lady, would you not agree that is beautiful? Now I can take it with me and not hurt it. Her smile was the very warm genuine thanks of reminding her of that every day beauty.

I got this from my mother. I don't know where she got it, but its one of the greatest treasures I have.

A few people waiting for the bus think I'm crazy for talking to old ladies I don't know and thinking the rosebush is so wonderful. I have only my sunset-honkin' mother to thank for all this silliness.