Just above the rocky tide line at the beach grow tangles of wild rose bushes. I've been watching them for awhile, waiting for the first blossoms. The flowers don't last long, but their delicate scent is one I remember from childhood. I clipped them then, and brought them home to place in a jar of water where they soon wilted. Now, older, and wiser, I hope, I leave them alone. The fleeting beauty of wild roses is delicate and must be enjoyed in place, where the bushes grow.
As we rinsed our sandy feet off with the garden hose at home, someone spotted this tiny frog on a rhododendron leaf. He blends in beautifully, another marvel of creation.
We had company again this weekend. Sweet grandbaby and her parents, and our youngest daughter and her husband. I caught the baby in a pensive mood while out on a walk this afternoon. We are so blessed that our children come up to see us often - I treasure each visitor as a gift.
Linking once again to Mary's wonderful mosaics at the Little Red House.