I would mold the world of fire and dew. William Butler Yeats
Aside from cooler temperatures, and the rich light and shadows caused by the ever lowering angle of the sun, another autumnal plus, for rose photographers, is the length of time dew remains on the roses. It's 9 a.m. and Mrs. B. R. Cant, shown here in the Sacramento Historic City Cemetery, is still getting her face washed.
I received an email that the beloved rosarian, Miriam Wilkins, completed her life's work, and passed on this morning. (I prepared this post yesterday– maybe Miriam is now happily washing her face in rose dew.) My friend Susan just posted the following beautiful comment– which couldn't speak more eloquently:
I'll never forget visiting her glorious garden with you...winding our
way through her maze of roses that seemed to go on forever. I can't
help but think that all the roses of the world are singing her praises