High atop a solitary tower, ensconced upon an intricately carved and ornate console, encased in a crystalline dome, a single crimson rose bestowed with enchantments waits, dusty with age, to fulfill its raison d’etre. Years pass. Shadows of hulking masses with horns fill the nights. With each breaking dawn, streams of garnet-hued light tinged with violet and indigo filter through the gilt-framed stained-glass casements. In the distance, aromas emanating from the marché couvert waft upwards with tantalizing promise. Down through redolent Calabrian pines, over sage covered hills abloom with geranium, nasturtium, and hydrangeas, a tiny hamlet bustles with activity. Musky hen houses, baskets overflowing with ruby grapefruit, fresh blackberry and raspberries, heirloom tomatoes, and orange blossoms line the cobbled streets. Below stairs, fresh seaweed rye bread is baking while a feast replete with glazed ham, cloves, Castelvetrano olives, Marcona almonds, and butterscotch pudding awaits the unexpected guest. Suddenly it happens; the dream comes true. A beaming visage appears, happiness captured in a look of fearless love. This moment could last forever as the endless refrain of an ageless tale, sotto voce, emanates from a far-off credenza. Whatever forces have shaped the savage creature, his heart is now lost to this fair flower. As the final velvety crimson bloom descends, a declaration of love is uttered and amid profound transformation, he knows they will be together, always.
notes by miranda thompson, vp of quality control