What the rose foretold

I don’t consider myself particularly superstitious, but maybe I should reëvaluate that assessment. I do hold to certain ritual acts, especially on New Year’s Eve, when coins must be tossed out the front door, and a dark stranger is admitted bearing gifts of coal, gold and whiskey to bring warmth, good fortune, and happiness for the new year.

These rituals are ‘performed’ annually, more to amuse guests than to appease the Fates. But listen. Growing in my garden is something peculiar, almost preternatural –  a plant that has become a mysterious oracle – a rose that is seemingly able to predict the future.

This rose I acquired many years ago – in my Elgar-crazed days.

Strolling through a vast garden centre, I spied a particular hybrid rose, blooming in a rich flame colour, with the curious name – David Austin’s ‘Elgar Rose’. I figured it was a sign, took it home and planted it. The first bloom came just before a performance of an Elgar oratorio! A second before a commission to compose a new choral work. The plant offered up these sparce blooms each subsequent year, always coinciding with a significant musical event. Nothing spectacular, but it was eerily dependable at predicting these things.

Then, this year, the rose went completely gaga. Five, then ten, then twenty blooms at a time. I figure this was foretelling all the musical events that would be happening in the coming 2025-26 season.

When I consider this horticultural phenomenon, I waffle between the cogitations of my rational mind and the vagaries of my free-wheeling imagination that still almost believes in Fairies, Santa’s elves, and American democracy.

Of course, the scientific explanation for this abundance of buds is this: at my request, my brother sawed off a tree branch whose leaves were casting a great deal of shade on the garden. When the offending limb had been cut off, the rose was exposed to glorious sunlight, and took full advantage, blossoming heavenward like a bonfire.

Notwithstanding this obvious explanation, I prefer to take the more whimsical view. I interpret the rose’s fecundity as a good omen for music making this season. I’ll be composing three pieces for the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir. Opera Laurier will be staging my opera ‘Llandovery Castle’, and there’s a rumour about ‘Water: an environmental oratorio’ being produced.

I’ll be blogging about these musical events a little more often now that I have retired from York University. Since that branch of my work has been severed, composing and music-making will flourish a bit more. Once again, nature has provided a valuable lesson.