White roses on the dinner table, always arranged in this heirloom pressed-glass compote, are a Thanksgiving tradition at our house. But this year a family emergency took us away from home at Thanksgiving, so the white roses graced our Christmas table, instead.
White roses thrill me because they're never completely white. There's always a subtle hint of shell pink or creamy yellow or spring green at their centers, giving the "colorless" flowers a charm unmatched by their more obvious brothers and sisters.
These photos are a few days old; I threw the roses out yesterday. Even kept in a cool room and given plenty of water, they last for only a week. But like bright meteors that streak through the nighttime sky, their beauty is all the more precious because it is so short-lived.