I was walking out the front door and noticed the Mr. Lincoln rose was particularly beautiful. I used my cell phone to snap a pic. The water droplets didn’t come through as crisp as I would have liked…you can see the sheen of the droplets. This rose is a fragrant reminder of my mom’s love of roses. First generated in 1964, the rose was transplanted from my folk’s house after their deaths and the sale of their home.
Thank you for the little things.
They take root, grow, and bloom into love.
A holy man checks his watch
and a dogwood opens.
Spring pauses at the gate of constancy.
Strength and grace alight on wing.
Faithfulness a seed,
commitment the storms.
She gives a soft shoulder,
a lush hope.
A warm gust that nods the heads
of little buds
that we read like tea leaves
as if luck or fate
has something to do with it.