Nature’s cleaning crew
bout halfway through a thirty-five-mile bicycle trip on a steamy, ninety-three-degree day in the Delaware Valley, the seven of us suddenly stopped simultaneously, all but overwhelmed by an intense fragrance. “A perfume factory,” I wondered, as I scanned an expansive, gorgeous stretch of undeveloped river valley. I experienced complete mental bankruptcy until someone shouted, “Look, roses!” A ten-acre field of wild roses, white and extremely pale pink, abutted the road on both sides. As I wondered at the power of
