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Lifelong Companions, Roses
Their presence lifts and calms, allowing me to breathe.
What might a lifetime of smelling the roses be like? What if I have had one all along?
Little Betsy, a three-year-old playing in the garden, popping balloons against zinnias taller than herself. Balloon encounters thorn and ‘pop!’
Rose whispers hush momentarily as blooming beds re-settle. The roses always know. Their calm vibrancy surrounds me as I play, holding the garden and me in Summer’s embrace.
Whenever life has brought me challenges, it has also blown me roses.
Mum’s gardens were always filled with their blooms. When possible I have planted them as well. One of the joys of life spent in my little hills house was tip-toeing into the dawn garden with a canine companion, whose guidance allowed me to gather the morning’s roses oh-so-carefully, cutting only those blooms who volunteered to come along. Early, before the human day rush, we listened to them sing their transition songs. Night blooms gave way to the opening of each day.
“Don’t shorten their lovely lives,” I told myself, quoting Anne Shirley, a longtime literary heroine. “Take only the volunteers,” the garden whispered. “Sit among these treasures and learn to breathe as they do.”
