Flowers.
Are.
My.
Passion.
They have everything.
Color.
Fragrance.
Shape.
Style.
Texture.
Symmetry.
And for my avian friends, perhaps the most important gift of all—nectar.
I’ve always been drawn to them.
Whether it was a field of lavender stretching toward the horizon, a wall of roses climbing an old stone fence, or blossoms tumbling from a vine as if nature had decided gravity was merely a suggestion.
I was hooked.
Completely enthralled.
Maybe it’s because flowers are nature’s way of celebrating life without saying a word.
I found myself thinking about that while walking the shoreline at Sachuest Point.
The birds were everywhere.
Some paused briefly to sip nectar. Others hunted the insects the blossoms attracted. A few seemed content to perch among the flowers, as if staking a claim to a tiny piece of paradise.
And honestly, who could blame them?
The pink rose caught my eye first.
The white rose made me stop.
Same species.
Same shoreline.
Same Atlantic winds.
Yet each chose its own way to greet the morning.
The pink blossoms are known as Beach Roses.
Tough little survivors.
Originally brought from Asia, they have become as much a part of the Rhode Island coastline as salt spray and sea breezes. Their thick, deeply wrinkled leaves and vibrant blooms thrive where many plants would surrender. Wind, sand, poor soil, and salt air don’t discourage them.
They simply bloom anyway.
I like that.
The white blossoms belong to Multiflora Rose.
They tell a different story.
Introduced for erosion control and living fences, they spread far beyond what anyone imagined. Today they are considered invasive throughout much of New England.
Yet standing there in the morning light, I wasn’t thinking about classifications.
I wasn’t thinking about native or invasive.
I wasn’t thinking about origin stories or ecological debates.
I was simply admiring beauty.
The pink rose stood alone among the dune grasses, surrounded by a world that seemed determined to test its resilience.
The white roses gathered together by the hundreds, creating waves of blossoms that seemed to roll across the landscape like foam upon the sea.
Different histories.
Different journeys.
Different reputations.
Yet both were glowing beneath the same sun.
Funny how often life works that way.
We spend so much time sorting people into categories.
Strong or weak.
Successful or struggling.
Native or outsider.
Worthy or unworthy.
And then life reminds us that every soul has a story we cannot see.
Perhaps that is why flowers calm me.
Naturally.
They never compete.
They never explain themselves.
They simply become the fullest expression of what they were created to be.
A Beach Rose doesn’t wish it were a Multiflora Rose.
A white blossom doesn’t envy a pink one.
Each blooms where it finds itself.
Each reaches toward the light.
And somehow, in their quiet way, they remind us that maybe that’s enough for us too.
To bloom where we are.
To endure the storms.
To welcome the sunlight when it arrives.
And to offer a little beauty to the world while we’re here.
Naturally.
I’d love to share my posts with you. If you subscribe, they’ll come straight to your inbox—most days, like a little note from me to you. It means a lot to know you’re reading along.
Browse my complete art portfolio and shop for prints at imagesbygacioe.shop
Leave a Reply