Sunday morning, an early walk through morning mist.
My mind misty too. A long swipe up my arm from a singing nettle.
I happened upon the circular rose gardens in the war memorial gardens.
Alone with the blackbirds, I took in ten thousand, dew-covered, waiting roses.
Pink and cream, peach and pink, raspberry red.
Around the edge grew herbs and poppies.
Completely alone. The sun cleared the mist.
I’ve been mentally composing a suicide note all week.
This Sunday morning gift made me grateful for all life.
There are walks that are boring, ordinary, aggravating.
And there are walks which bring revelation, walks which can save your life.