I've been a rabid rose freak since age six, even when each slice of a thorn compels me to say my garden will be the death of me. But honeysuckle is my favorite fragrance - maybe because it is so fleeting, but also because the scent simply brings me to peace - lately, a rare commodity, as I'm challenged and frustrated too often by the questions we didn't even know needed asking as we herk and jerk our way to what I'm calling Dumpster Day.
So nothing was going to stop Thursday's shoe-imperiling journey through an urban thicket into a hellish McDonogh Street backyard to grab at honeysuckle cheerfully rambling round a rusty ramshackle fence. This rear yard couldn't be more different than my clipped, symmetrical, immaculate, practically perfect (something in my world has to be!) formal rose garden, but even amid the weeds and the critters and the collapsing houses, I found beauty and sanctuary.
It reminded me of what I wrote in I Surrender on my Steamed Female blog: "Maybe it was something in the stillness and the quiet that freed my mind and let it roam - made possible by surrendering to something exactly opposite of my perfectly-planned spaces and not at all under my control." I will endeavor to keep this in mind with the next challenge.
No comments:
Post a Comment