With the roughness of desert sandstorms, it brings out the unruliness of delicate roses, awakening wildness and rebelling against oneself. They all praise the rose scent, but I prefer to bloom like a cactus. The roses blooming against the wind in the wilderness insist on growing savagely, with hard and sharp thorns on the stems and soft and deep fragrance. Like the proud back left in the wilderness, and also like the exquisite brush strokes of a painting, it is graceful, not vulgar, not cold, and adds firmness and self to tenderness.