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

jasmine

pink

heat

green

laughter

peace

roses

yellow

song

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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