I stopped to smell the roses today…literally.
My thoughts floated fragrantly to Shakespeare beautifully nefarious phrase “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Although he was quite possibly chiding poetically at the expense of a theatre, this lovely phrase aroused new meaning today. At least for a moment. At least for me. There was one particular rose whose aroma was beyond anything I have ever been privileged to inhale …ever. Seriously. If I hadn’t been in Los Angeles, I would have sworn up and down I had been transported to the river valleys of Bulgaria. I am keen to believe one of my wee Irish ancestors (the habit-wearing nun branch to be sure) kept a Damascus stow-away under her pious vestments. But of course she would have. Her story would have seen a charmed moment, ancestral déjà vu…
Upon her arrival in the City of Angels she happened upon a hilltop with views stretching from the mountains to the wide blue Pacific Ocean. Breathtaking, yet a certain forlorn yearning. She knelt down and smelled a rose. She smelled it again, deepening the inhale this time. She was transported. The melancholy tears of longing for the distant shores of her homeland faded away in the simple pleasure yet enormous beauty of the moment. Considering the vast landscape again, her heart said it was okay to stay.
Kinda pagan, kinda sensual, kinda renegade. Boom.
Why not give it a try today? Stop. Smell. Be.
Just for a moment’s pause, allow yourself to be transported by your senses. Go.