The rose bush is still blooming.
Three new buds present, unopened on the upper stakes of the vermillion bush. Yesterday I brought a half blown rose to the little vase on my dining table to replace the wilted specimen from last week. I have had fresh roses on my table for two months.
The rose bush that someone landscaped 20 years ago and carefully tended in the small backyard of this rental townhouse is still blooming. I am grateful to that caring person for giving verve and color to the small private space. I acknowledge that no hard freeze has yet struck our neighborhood. I am also aware that the enduring beauty and survival of blooms is partly due to my careful watering, attentiveness and consistent pruning.
May I exercise that same care and stewardship over my own comings and goings so that I bloom far into the winter!
I love to walk. Walking is a habit, an addiction, something as necessary for my well being as sleep or food; music and written words.
At first I thought they were silly – not to mention sloppy: little sticky notes everywhere; three by five cards taped over the sink and on the refrigerator. I once made a reminder which said, “Smile,” and taped it to my bathroom mirror. The next day when I exited the shower, I looked up expectantly, waiting for encouragement, only to be disappointed. The strip of ordinary white paper was rippled from the steam and running red marker letters were fast blurring into watercolor hieroglyphics. My tentative smile felt a bit as though my spirit had been caught in the rain in non-waterproof makeup and a crinoline dress.