Rosebush

Kristen and I have lived in a small house in Richmond since we got married in August of 2002. Outside of the front door, on our porch, there’s a rose bush of some kind. I don’t know anything about roses except that they’re somewhat expensive and Kristen (and many other women for that matter) likes them.
Each year when the harsh Indiana weather comes in those roses, along with almost every other form of plant life dies and hides their shades of green, red, yellow and purple to make way for the white of winter. Towards the end of each winter I can still see the vines for the roses, but the look like nothing more than black, shriveled pieces of rope, "we’ve lost the rose bushes for good this time" I think. But they always return in the spring.
I was sitting on the porch today after mowing the grass and I noticed that the rose vines have changed from black into light brown, they’re coming back again for spring, I’m constantly amazed by how much plants can take. I look back on this last winter, which had its share of bad snow storms and I can’t believe how much those plants have come through.