Roses and Rain
She sat in the garden, alone. Rain was falling profusely yet gently over the roses, and gathering the sky in upon itself. She watched it from beneath her umbrella, beneath a tree. The umbrella was white. Her dress was white. It had come from France. Her scarf had lace trimming its edges. When she was a girl, she had longed for lace, and always smiled with a quiet wonder that she had it now. These little things gave her contentment. There was so much she had wanted for herself that never came, never would. And there was pain, weariness, grief. But for a moment in a garden she could look at white lace, rain on roses, and feel peace.
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