Rose

Her name was rose and she was ever as sweat. In the mid summer sun she would sweat deep and hard. Her pale skin would tan eventually but between the time her names sake bore it’s first leaves and it’s last blossoms, she would burn deep and red. It wasn’t until late in the year that and the sun had seen it’s final equinox of the year that she could stand under its great intensity all the day long and not feel its warmth still radiating from her flesh come night fall.

Of course her redden flesh and it’s propensity to burn, flake, and form layers of solar resistance spoke nothing of her skills with a wrench or a spatula. If a tool could fit within the palm of her hand, she could wield it with a skillful mastery. All the village stone masons would come to her for apprenticeship in wall construction. The same was said of the bakers. Those who wished to form baguette with both a chewy crust with an acceptable amount of air holes would seek her assistance. And she would teach all who came to her, for her heart was large and her desires were to spread her knowledge all around.

Though she could mix cement, wield a wrench like no other, bake bread with the best of them and had one numerous county fair awards for her pies, cakes and even doughnuts… she had no sense of rhythm.