The Rose

Based on an amalgamation of several true stories...

A handsome gentleman in a sports coat strolls leisurely through the neighborhood. He is smoking a pipe. The smoke from his pipe swirls above his head, drawing sharp contrast with the vertical pinstripes on his jacket. He wanders with no specific destination, enjoying a crisp Seattle evening the best way he knows how.

In front of a house he sees a mass of overgrown rose bushes, which somehow still manage to bear some of the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. He stops and picks one rose from among the many, carefully removing each thorn, before continuing on his walk. The rose, like the walk, has no specific purpose except the sheer enjoyment of God's creation.

He walks, getting farther and farther from his house. Soon enough he sees a young woman walking toward him. She is beautiful, but clearly not planning to see anyone during her walk based on her disheveled hair and haphazard clothing. As they pass, he hands her the rose, continuing with his walk.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"I didn't say anything," he replies.

"I know that, but I think you owe me an explanation."

"Well," he says, "I don't really have one. I picked it, and I saw you, so I decided to give it to you."

She looks at him confused, mumbling something about not getting flowers from anyone before calling his motives into question.

"If I had ulterior motives, I'd have stopped you to talk. You stopped yourself, and me for that matter. Perhaps I should be questioning YOUR motives." he stops and laughs awkwardly, wishing he had left off the last sentence.

She looks at him strangely and silently, obviously confused and disoriented.

"Stop selling yourself short," he says. "Have a goodnight. Maybe I'll see you around." With that, he walks away.

She never forgot him, though she never saw him again. At least, she doesn't think she ever saw him again, though to this day she cannot recall his face.

Based on an amalgamation of several true stories...

A handsome gentleman in a sports coat strolls leisurely through the neighborhood. He is smoking a pipe. The smoke from his pipe swirls above his head, drawing sharp contrast with the vertical pinstripes on his jacket. He wanders with no specific destination, enjoying a crisp Seattle evening the best way he knows how.

In front of a house he sees a mass of overgrown rose bushes, which somehow still manage to bear some of the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. He stops and picks one rose from among the many, carefully removing each thorn, before continuing on his walk. The rose, like the walk, has no specific purpose except the sheer enjoyment of God's creation.

He walks, getting farther and farther from his house. Soon enough he sees a young woman walking toward him. She is beautiful, but clearly not planning to see anyone during her walk based on her disheveled hair and haphazard clothing. As they pass, he hands her the rose, continuing with his walk.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"I didn't say anything," he replies.

"I know that, but I think you owe me an explanation."

"Well," he says, "I don't really have one. I picked it, and I saw you, so I decided to give it to you."

She looks at him confused, mumbling something about not getting flowers from anyone before calling his motives into question.

"If I had ulterior motives, I'd have stopped you to talk. You stopped yourself, and me for that matter. Perhaps I should be questioning YOUR motives." he stops and laughs awkwardly, wishing he had left off the last sentence.

She looks at him strangely and silently, obviously confused and disoriented.

"Stop selling yourself short," he says. "Have a goodnight. Maybe I'll see you around." With that, he walks away.

She never forgot him, though she never saw him again. At least, she doesn't think she ever saw him again, though to this day she cannot recall his face.

The Rose