Of course she would say that, good anarchist that she was. And I agree with her, both aesthetically and ideologically. How sad to think that, for many urban dwellers, roses are now so far out of reach that they might as well be diamonds.
In the wonderful sixties, we (or at least most of us — hippies, new left, new age, peaceniks, beat intellectuals as well as down-to-earth business people like my mom and dad) were optimistic: naive perhaps, ingenuous yes, cynical occasionally, but never defeatist or without hope. Overall, most people were downright hopeful about the future. I remember reading a book called, wait for it, How New will the Better World Be?
In those days, we thought everything was comin’ up roses!
Burning the Books
Beginning or End?
Grandad Wade
Beauty
Small blessings #4: Just a touch of rose.
Seven
Glory
Morning Cuppa
Alert