Time for roses
My bedroom furniture has been with me since I was a teenager. It is decorated with hand-painted roses and I used to hate it. Accepting myself also means embracing my surroundings; objects and landscapes speak of dreams and characters. I find these furnishings beautiful and romantic; years ago they were just prissy and only wished to get rid of them. Acceptance brings a new gaze at what we were and still are. Suddenly, ugly things look pretty and full of life. Even the way I fold a blanket on a chair tells more about myself than my writings, my words. It is time for roses and I have them in every little corner in vases and jars. Its different shapes and scents talk about beauty. Witnessing perfection is a work of art and art is everywhere. If I look with careful and conscious eyes, if I settle my soul on life, I walk into poetry, into quiet paths, into roses and silky barley fields.