It started in May
the ruby red roses
delicately lush
on a bush in bloom,

and each morning I’d walk
close to their color,
crossing the street
to come in to their presence

because that’s what beauty does
beckoning proximity
with peace that magnetizes
welcoming a pause for pleasure

and I lean in
drawn to aromatic air
delighting in loveliness that lets
me forget what aches

my senses escalate with delight
I breathe in deeply
getting closer, closer
with my nose plunged in to petals

the fragrance is sweet
delicate and unassuming too
capturing my heart
washing waves of calmness through me

there’s a prick of pain too
leaning in pulls me to the thorns
those snags that accompany
this precious plant

but I lean in, closer
to capture the moment,
deeper to be filled with
perfume au naturel that makes me smile so.

The scent of roses is life,
I will not walk by, but lean
bearing the brunt of the pain,
to seek the joy in beauty so sensory.

The summer slows,
but my neighbor’s been pruning,
so here into September,
blooms still show.

So I cross the street, each morning,
just as I do each day,
accepting the pain, bearing the thorns,
to breathe in the scent of beauty, of dear life, I’m grateful for.

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