"Why can't you just stop for a second and smell the roses?
Can't you see how pretty it is?
Feel how soft it's petals are?
How the thorns give pungent imagery about the intertwined nature of beauty and danger?
Just stop and appreciate the rose."
It might just be me,
But I'm far more interested in the bit of graffiti
Etched imprecisely on a tree
Saying SW loves JD
In the slightly damaged branch
In the bit of litter on the ground
In the butterflies dancing with each other
In the oak that stands many meters tall
In the little bit of rope on the strongest accessible branch indicating the absence where a swing used to be
In the pattern of flowers that means nothing at all
I love the sound of a river streaming
I adore the rustling of leaves indicating the hidden life I can't see
I like stopping in a place with long grass indicating no one really stopped here before
I like to stop to try to work out why on earth I've stopped at all
And yes, sometimes, I like to stop to smell the roses.
But the only reason we can stop at all is because the rest of the time we're moving.
We can only stop so many times.
And I have to say, that when I stop
I want it to stop for my own reasons
And find my own beauty in this world.
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