"For some reason, it won't let me get to the rose garden! The gate has been securely locked, barring my entrance!" she thought to herself.
She could not understand why the gate resisted her imperious and angry shaking. Almost trembling in hope that she would find a way in through some other avenue, she wandered across the long lawns of the chateau, gazing at the seemingly endless wall to the rose garden stretched out before her.
She really could not understand why she could not gain access and taste the beautiful scents that wafted so temptingly just beyond reach from where she stood. She shivered in mental pain and anguish for this seemed to sum up her existence -- so near and yet so far from the goals that she sought, no matter how far she followed the maxim: try, try and try again.
Looking up at the top of the high red brick wall, she could even see the leaves of climber roses, twining around the grey slates that topped the wall, but never a flower. Would there be no release from her from this annoying predicament, or was this just another task set to distress her and to alienate her affections from the Master of the chateau. He had said that the gardens were free to all . She snorted at the thought that even the most remote stranger on making his acquaintance, could be escorted to this exemplary floral tribute at this very moment! And here she was barred and frustrated to the point of throwing herself down onto a grassy knoll and weeping.
A hand reached down to touch her shoulder softly. She shuddered disaffected from him, feeling that this belated tactile approach was too little and too late. She would go back to her room and pack her things this very night. She was not going to be treated in this way by anybody let alone a self-appointed jumped up Count. By what right did he keep his buds from the one whom he allegedly claimed to be his most favoured flower of all.
Oh yes, those had been pretty words in the banqueting hall on the night before, when he had toasted her for all the company. He had made her blush brightly in the firelight at the sheer pleasure of being so selected. She had looked up to him eyes full of adoration when he had placed a rose across her place setting. She had watched him delightedly as he served her personally with each delicacy on the heavily laden tables.
No mere serving wench would suffice for the one whom he had selected for nocturnal pleasures and entertainments. And now in the morning mists she was inconsolable. She would never listen to his blandishments ever again. No matter what he might say or do, she would never be his again, she thought. She would never lie by his side and allow him to take his pleasure of her or yield her softness to his powerful torso. She would never cry out endlessly through the night, causing the peacocks to rise prematurely and join in with raucous calls greeting the dawn with their ejaculations.
Never she reiterated, glancing up to find him standing her side. He remained there for a moment, realising that she needed the key to his floral treasures and a solution to the conundrum of this locked gate. He leant down and murmured into her ear:
"Beauty of roses.........Fades in the long winter..........Renews love's power."
And suddenly all was clear to her -- roses were out of season . She was his winter flower. she was there to console him for their loss. She would strengthen and grow with him even as they budded, flowered, faded and died through each coming year. She did not need such material beauty to build upon the foundation of their friendship.
There would be more, many more roses, flowers and other treasures to enjoy over time as their shared desires and aspirations became truly majestic. She would behold his pride and joy. She would be there to create with him a whole landscaped gardens of thoughts, imaginative musings and ideas . They would surround themselves in these fantastic delights, walling them in with their thoughts. Together they would preserve the beauty that they perceived there.
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