even the sweetest rose has thorns

longing at the gate / 14 x 17 / watercolor

14 x 17

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For me, remembrance is a dangerous game of standing on one foot at the edge of a cliff.  Ahhh, the vistas!  Oooh, the sky!  Mmmm, the fragrant breeze. Guard down, I misstep and go-a-tumbling over the cliff into the past of times-best-left-unremembered. The rose smells sweet but its’ thorn draws blood, and, just now, all my roses seethe with thorns.

Maybe it is because I have returned to my home of 40 years where memories of my family of origin, all passed now, haunt my days.  Maybe it is because I have just turned 60, and my life, being in place I didn’t foresee, begs reliving. Maybe, I need to face my past, and I finally have the time to do it.  Maybe I need to let go of my past, and I finally have the time to work through it.

All I am sure of right now while I truly love roses, I fear their thorns.

So for now anyway, like a Lenten sacrifice, I am giving up Remembrance and replacing it with mindfulness of this day. No remembrance (and no conjecture), just now-ness. I’ll drain my mind and let it fill again with this moment, which is almost always good.

Out my window, I see the spring rising up and hear the songs of the new birds.  A good beginning to loving life as it is today and praising the Creator for all the good He gives.

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