Smelling the roses

On an early summer’s day, I took a walk.  Not a new walk or a particularly exciting walk – though I never take for granted the ever-changing constant view as I cross the river – but one which affords me time to catch up with podcasts and exercise my often too-sedentary limbs.

Should I add the bolt-on bit? I wondered as I wandered.  Do I need an extra few minutes?  Is it worth the effort?

Yes, I urged myself.  Why not?  You’re doing okay; it’s fine.

And so on I went.  I rounded the corner into the street and suddenly










My senses kept getting overridden by one another, couldn’t get enough, couldn’t stop looking, smelling, feeling, as if a multitude of blessings were crowded down one inconsequential little road and looked to me in return for escape.

Well done, I congratulated myself.  What a happy decision to continue, to follow my feet, to lift my head and heart and smell the roses as I walked on.


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