Ten days ago there were two rosebuds on the bush in my herb bed.
Frost was predicted. I wondered if I should pick them and bring them inside. But each had only a tiny bit of color showing, so I worried that I'd be picking them too soon and they would never open.
I settled on bringing one in and leaving one outside, and watching to see what happened.
The indoor one began to unfurl slowly, and now looks like this.
The outdoor one also began to open, and having survived another night of frost thanks to a pillowslip cover, looks like this.
Perhaps in a few more days they will both be open. And here’s the unexpected spark of light – barely a foot away from the rosebush I've been photgraphing, on the miniature rosebush between the lavender and the mint, without my ever noticing any rosebuds, I discovered this tiny rose, fully open, untroubled by frost or hail.
"Instructions for living a life:
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"
I've taken on a prayer practice of looking for the moments of light in each day, whether actual or metaphorical, and then writing or posting photos of what I find.