Tuesday, March 6, 2018

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses.

Alphonse Karr, A Tour Round My Garden

I dream I’m in the garden: the place of promise, the place of hope; the place where so many lessons are to be learned, where so much peace is to be found.

All that, and vegetables too.

Meanwhile, the days grow ever-so-slightly longer. The days are warming and snow is melting, slow but sure, inching toward spring.

I glance out the window and see that it looks like it’s snowing on the hills on the other side of the valley. Or maybe it’s just fog. Either way, no sunshine this morning.

All I want to do is sequester myself in the woman cave to write . . . but life. And appointments.

And then, in the midst of the melancholy, he brings me a pot of miniature roses and I place it near the window to see how it looks through the lens of my camera.

It looks like grace.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. I’m the same about my time—just want to write, but so many other things get in the way! Enjoy your day, who knows, there may be sunshine!

    1. It turned out to be a sunny day after all! Hope yours was too, Diane!

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