At water’s edge the rose shares its beauty with the lake.
Despite being late November, the rose is in all its glory, emanating a gentle pink hue with soft petals that curl back ever so seductively. Its mesmerizing geometric design draws the eyes to its center – the heart and essence of its unfolding beauty.
Does the rose know it’s too late in the season to be blooming? Doesn’t it realize that any day now a brutal, north wind could sweep through delivering a devastating cold that could freeze and end its fragile life?
Seasons don’t matter. The rose blooms when the time is right- within. When its energy and potential have melded to the point that it can no longer be stymied. The rose can not be held back – not by limitations, or rules, or seasons – it must burst forth in self-expression, sharing its inherent joy. True, all may be lost tomorrow, but the real tragedy would be to have never shared at all, to have hung back in fear, to have denied even the most brief moment of joy.
The rose knows. We must honor that within. It’s never too late. Bloom.