ROSES| Lucille Lang Day No need to write about the dozen peach-colored roses in a transparent vase on a chest of drawers sitting on a red tile floor in a bright green room in Mexico. They appeared yesterday— a gift, but not meant especially for me. I looked into the window of the room next door and saw a dozen pink ones. Still, a gift is a gift, so I will accept their sweet breath rippling through my room as firecrackers announce la Natividad de San Juan Bautista, shadows lengthen on cobblestones, fiesta music rises and night's dark petals fall.