In springtime, Momma would send me to school with a fresh cut rose for my teacher. With celebration in my step I smiled out the front screen door and slowly scanned our little bush for the best bud of all. While momma bent down to make the diagonal cut between thorns, she taught me the value of sun, rain, and soil. Even in white winter, I remember the rosedew smell and velvet feel of gratitude. Her lesson has not lessoned with time.
On quiet afternoons, my mind gathers names of people who have blessed my life with their nurturing. At times, the lessons have been cut carefully between thorns. Mostly, the memories are of liquid sunshine that I have danced in! My life has been abundantly blessed; yet not sufficiently suffoncified, because there is much left to learn...and while I yearn to understand more...I hope armfuls of roses for the teachers in my life.