A long time ago, when my parents’ cottage was still fairly new, my mum and her parents planted a little rose bush in the flower bed in front of the verandah. It was a very small rose bush – just a couple of canes with a healthy show of leaves. They planted it, watered it, and sat back to watch it.
And … nothing happened.
The rose bush stayed small. It didn’t grow, it didn’t set buds, it didn’t flower. Nothing.
It continued doing nothing for the next forty years.
This past summer, it finally decided to bloom.
So, here it is: a forty-year-old rose, blooming at last.