
Just a couple of weeks ago the wild roses along the road were in full bloom and evening light made them oh so appealing. Yet just a few steps away were older rose bushes rose-hips still attached and full of cobwebs.

As we walked this road the pattern seems to repeat young and old, new and old over and over again.


A fine study in contrast yet none really exists.
Are the old roses dead? The last seems to have been made by a very artistic spider.
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Reblogged this on Wonders of Wandering.
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