The roses are blooming. Not politely. Not modestly. Not in neat little rows.
No, they’ve erupted- red and wild and absolutely unbothered by anything that might try to contain them. Hundreds of blooms spilling like joy down the side of the cabin, stretching toward the sun like it owes them something. And maybe it does.

I stood there this morning, cooling coffee in hand, watching them. Just… watching. The light hit them like applause. And for a moment, everything else- deadlines, emails, undone to-do lists-fell off the planet.
There’s something about those roses. They don’t hustle. They don’t rehearse. They just arrive in full color, like, “What? This is what I do.”
I wonder what it would feel like to live like that.
To stop waiting for perfect conditions or permission.
To let myself take up space- bright, unapologetic, and a little unruly.
To be both peaceful and joyous at the same time.
There’s a lesson out there in those petals, I’m sure of it. About beauty. About boldness. About blooming even when you’re tired. Even when you’re not sure anyone will notice. Especially then.
So while these roses are blooming, I will sip my now-cold coffee, and I will thank them. For the color. For the reminder. For showing up in red velvet armor to say, You made it to this moment. Let that be enough- for now.
– me, the one wondering what part of me is about to burst into bloom next!