“ Do you wear the rose perfume?” she asked. Yes I said and then she said that every time she caught the scent she wondered from where it comes and who walks with a bouquet of roses. I wish it were so. I would give you a rose. . . . .thorns to be sure, but a rose with petals of baby skin and a scent reminding you of a place long buried in memory.
And coupled with the stringent passion of evergreen. . . both are the true measure of this woman pilgrim in journey. The evergreen stands as a fulcrum of entry into a forest of refuge. We belong here it says. The rose for its scent of love and the evergreen, its passion. Both marshaling the heart and mind unto the place I know best.
So we must paint roses in the cheeks of the newborn to remind them of the place from which they come. And with the roses will come the scent they remember. The evergreen will remind them also of what it is they hold as memory. Remember the sabers were put across each other at the foot of the evergreen. A constant reminder that peaceful skills must be honed each day and that they must be taught from the very first breath. These memories will be sufficient to carry them to the end of their days. They will remember and know the place that held their hearts and that with these they will find peace with understanding. They need not speak of it but they will know each other by their actions and the love in their hearts. Their hands will grasp each other and they will know then how much they were loved.