To be honest, my year hasn’t been all sunshine and roses.
Also, to be honest, I don’t really like roses because they smell kind of bitter and then poke me with thorns.
So actually you could say this year has had some roses.
The prickly, wild kind.
Not the pretty ones all tied up in bouquets with tissue paper. Honestly, I think those kind of flowers are a waste. In a few days they dry up and you have to throw them away.
It’s like watering a vase of money and then tossing it into the compost pile (but this isn’t really supposed to be about my nonromantic commentary on flowers – it’s about my year of roses).
The prickly, wild kind of roses have been through rain.
(And no, I didn’t draw that. This person did.)
They stretch out ridged against the wind and uncurl their petals in the morning.
I’ve been struck by a few thorns this year.
Frisky in April.
Grandpa in June.
Even graduation is a kind of thorn.
The end of the familiar and threat of change pricks in its own way.
A bit of fear learning something new as school begins, and the shock of a collapsed lung.
Not mine. My Grandma‘s.
They re-inflated it, but I still breathe a little heavier.
I can’t tell you how scared I’ve been this year.
Scared of unseen thorns as I wade in the darkness of a secret garden.
Not the sun shiny one with the boy who talks to animals, but the one left for dead.
The undiscovered one.
The garden of my life.
Along with the thorns and wild, prickly roses, there are puddles of cool, reflective water.
I love puddles.
Just this Sunday, I stepped in some puddles with my black, rubber flats I wore to church.
Puddles are miniature adventures.
This year has had many miniature adventures.
Like the late night Goodwill run for an ugly Christmas sweater.
Like the neighborhood sledding hill.
Like the kids that came to my cabin to sew.
Like the novel I finished this year and won semi-finalist (and no, you can’t read it right now!)
Like the dance I made for 5th and 4th grade girls to exercise to.
Like the hugs from across-the-country-friends I’ve only known online.
There are also some “puddles” I’ve kept to myself this year, because they are my miniature adventures.
Honestly, I don’t think you’d be too interested. And that is ok.
My year has had puddles and roses.
As I keep walking in my secret garden, I’ll explore and feel and see.
And who knows what I will find.
And what will find me.
(This post is dedicated to my Katie. You know who you are.)