Yeah, flowers are pretty and smell good and symbolize spring and summer and all that kind of nice stuff, but I tend to get more excited looking at buildings in states of disrepair or at the geometry of industrial pieces than I do by floral growth. However, seeing as Barry and I live within walking distance of Portland's Rose Garden in Washington Park, we thought it was high time we get our butts over there and see what all the fuss over this place is about. And holy cow. This is one idyllic setting. Enough to blow away this brick and metal loving girl. I'll never trash talk a flower again.
My favorites, of course, were the flowers that had begun to wilt and shrivel up a bit. Some morbidly dark roses caught my eye, too.
Actually, though, my favorite part of visiting the Rose Garden was lying on a blanket there, watching the clouds and the day float on by.