Roses

I got a great piece of news yesterday afternoon—the kind of news that writers like to hear. More to come about that in the next few weeks. For now, let’s just say that in a year full of highs and lows, seems like right now, at this very moment, everything’s coming up roses.

For the last 16 hours I have been carrying around these roses. Deep, rich, red roses. All I can see is roses. Roses on my husband’s lips. Roses through the telephone. Roses in my kids hugs. Rose petals left behind on my dinner plate. Rose leaves blanketing our bodies as we sleep.

This morning, I worked out at the gym at the crack of dawn, then kissed my family and went to work. I looked for roses on the highway—nothing. Noticed every single autumnal color in the trees but no roses. Looked around at my fellow drivers, looked to see who was singing on their way to work (just me), who was on the telephone, and who was stressed out (everyone!). Drivers with their blank stares on a highway with no roses. My roses sat next to me on the passenger’s seat. Went into the office, tucked the fresh buds under my jacket. Crammed them in the pocket over my heart. The stems poke me in the chest, reminding me I am alive, and that I am still here. That I matter.

So for you today, I wish you amazingly, overwhelmingly, fantastically beautiful roses.