Well, I have truthfully written every day so far! But today, I wanted to share a piece that I wrote last year….before I had roses!
Hope you enjoy!
I’ve never grown roses. Have you? I have contemplated their scent: overwhelmingly intoxicating and romantic. I have admired their petals: perfectly formed and symmetrical. I have cursed their thorns, evasive and then fierce. But I have never purposely grown roses. The wild tangle of beach roses criss-crossing over the stone slope doesn’t count. Does it? It was just there one spring. Branch after branch of sweet smelling goodness. The kind of scent that evokes childhood memories of picking beach plums and making jam, of glass preserve jars over-filled with blossoms and used as the centerpiece for a summer supper by the sea.
I have never grown roses, but I have grown zinnias in every hue, feather-edged and bright as a brand new box of Crayolas. I have grown phlox that seems to spread overnight, that spills its cheerful tie-dyed blossoms over the tumbling white picket fence. I have grown knee-high coleus, whose soft velvety leaves and deep-veined colors remind me of the overgrown raspberry patch in the woods.
I have grown tomatoes, plump and sandwich ready. I have grown green beans by the bushel, my kids, (and dog), crunching their garden fresh goodness.
I planned on growing roses. I watched the shadows under the Maple. I plotted and considered. I flipped glossy pages and folded the corners back neatly as I made my selections. But then spring came to the thicket. Branches covered with blossoms gave way to a crop of juicy berries. The catbird nested here, calling her pleasure to me as I headed to the garden. Robins built their nests up above, tending their sky blue eggs so tenderly, anticipating the safety of my overgrown imaginary rose garden.
I revel in this special use for my almost rose garden. I pause there daily on my walk to the vegetable garden. I am not sad…rather, joyful. This thicket has become a place of new life, of solace, of peacefulness in what can often be a haphazard balance of motherhood and career. It is welcoming. It does not judge. Instead, it is revitalizing, embracing, calming.
So even though I don’t grow roses…perhaps never will, I still take time daily to contemplate life, to revel in nature, to be thankful for all that surrounds me. I take time to smell the roses.