A glimpse of majesty, intrigue, and eons of celebrated beauty, all wrapped up in a perfect package of fragrant petals.  What a decadent delight it is that awaits as I step through my garden gate, greeted by a wall of blooming foliage, a tapestry of green and white and bits of gold that at once is new and modern, planted by my bare hands but five years ago, and yet also a heraldic symbol of the enmity of kings and queens long past. Ah yes, my dear, sweet Alba who shares her gifts just once a year, she shall be my companion this morning as I bask in the sun and let the perfumed breeze conjure dreams of the clash and clang of swords outside a rose covered castle, and then of thatch covered cottages tucked inside their old English gardens tended by the wisest of village women. Of course, a busy day for me awaits, but for now, smiles, peace, and poetic thoughts of simple joys are my tasks; such valuable gifts, and all from one little, white, Yorkshire rose.