Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the Charmed characters, quotes, or overt references that may appear in my stories. They are the sole property of Spelling Television. I write for my own satisfaction and for the enjoyment of those who choose to read them. Are The Roses Not Blooming

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Are the roses not blooming this morning
Has the sun lost it's beautiful ray
Have the children no reason for laughing
Or my darling are you walking away.
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She stood at the window, funny she thought… I look out but see nothing. The sun will not rise. Silence fills the street, the golden shafts of sun are not going to dance on the missing children today. She ran her hand over the sturdy oak wood of the window frame.

So much like her she thought. Firm yet protective, polished from age yet made of raw and priceless timber.

She placed her hand on the beveled pane, so much of her is carved within the wall of this home. The coolness against her skin was calming. What is glass anyway? Highly compressed sand, heated in the furnace of time, expanding and contracting as the outward pressure deemed necessary. So much like her, she turned from her musing and gazed at the woman in the rocking heirloom. Her eyes closed and breathing labored.

The roses aren’t blooming this morning.

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Has the sky lost it's brilliant blue color
Are the robins
Not singing today
Has that river
No reason for running
Or my darling
Are you walking away?
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She walked over to the woman who had been there all her life. Pulling the memory quilt closer to the nodded chin. She let her gaze trace the many patches stitched with threads of love. The fading pink corduroy that Phoebe used to play in. A slightly stained floral that was Piper’s first apron. Prue let her hand rest on the yellow satin square, the baby blanket that always kept her warm. Squares of history, scrapes of the past woven into a story. Needle scarred fabric, recording the joy and heartaches, material mended with memories and torn with trials. Much like the woman wrapped within its comfort. The shadows skipped across the timeless textile. The sounds of nature, silenced out of respect, the only river flowing was the stream of tears that would not be dammed. She knelt at the feet of her grandmother and gently rested her head on Penny Halliwell’s lap. She felt the once strong hand weakly wipe away her sorrow.

“You’re walking away aren’t you Grams?” Her voice raspy and strained.

“Yes… Yes my darling, I am.”

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Has my heart found a reason
For breaking in two
Have my eyes found a reason to cry
Have my ears heard the voice of a stranger
Or my darling
Are you saying goodbye?
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Prue’s heart was breaking, shattering into a million pieces, pieces that her grandmother always knew how to fit back together. She felt all alone, the maternal baton was now being passed to her and she hadn’t the energy to run. What do I know about taking care of my sisters? I am still learning life, how am I to teach it to them? The silent tears burst into anguished sobs.

Penny offered no words, what could she possibly say? She ran her hands through her granddaughter’s hair, letting her undying love speak what her voice could not.

Prue abided in the safety of her Grams’ love. Trying to absorb all the courage and strength she so admired in her faithful mentor. She wished to assimilate all that she cherished, all that she revered in the woman she hoped to make proud. The words were faint but audible, like a familiar stranger. She tried to dismiss it as her grief talking, but the hand that was ministering to her was now still. No… its too soon. I didn’t hear right, it’s just all the stress.


Words drifting from the departing spirit. Yes, she heard them there was no denying them now. But she had to ask. She had to exhaust every chance that she was not just left all alone.

Prue dared not lift her head from the lap of love she nestled in. But she did dare to break the silence in the dusky dawn space.

“Are you saying goodbye Grams?”

“Yes… Yes my darling… I am.”

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Has the earth lost
It's power for turning
Has the winter decided to stay
Are the roses not blooming this morning
Or my darling are you walking away.
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While her world seemed to be spinning out of control, the earth was standing still. The icy February wind whipped around the huddled trio. Prue flanked by her distraught and inconsolable sisters. She wrapped them under her protective wing, much like a mother hen with her frightened chicks. Piper was grief-stricken, the woman who understood her so well was now joining the woman her was so much like her. How do you ease that kind of sorrow? Phoebe stood military straight, her body stiff and unyielding, unwilling to let the pain be viewed by anyone.

So much like me she thought. Don’t let them see you cry, just keep it all inside, she learned how to hide her feelings. Did I teach her that?

But the pooling eyes gave her youngest sister away. The bottomless view that told she was dying inside, emotions churning, erupting in her soul. She just held them both tighter. For holding on was all she could do for them and herself.

The service was brief and small. Penny was often known to be flamboyant, but subtlety was the nature of her funeral. Each grandchild laid a slender tea rose on the simple casket. The flower of remembrance.

Are the roses not blooming this morning?

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Are the roses not blooming this morning
Or my darling are you walking away
Or my darling are you walking away.
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Giving each of her sisters an intent look, a gaze filled with love and hope. She took each hand in hers and in unity they turned and walked away.


Finis