I have ten acres of land on a mountainside, which is to say eight acres which the wilderness has eaten, and two acres where my husband occasionally whacks back the encroaching forest.
Like all small wildernesses, we have our share of wild roses, and that's what inspired this piece. The roses themselves are nothing like this (they are tiny and white) but their foliage is dense and intriguing. When they bloom every year, I spend a week or two catching divine whiffs of fragrance on the breeze.
The title is from an old folk song which I barely know but occasionally hum anyway.