Last night, as happens every night, my two terrifyingly fierce hounds of hell alerted me to the OH’s return from work as he parked in our driveway. I noticed then everything went eerily quiet and that he was taking an extraordinarily long time to open the front door. Starting to get just ever so slightly freaked out, I unlocked the door and peeped out and there he was, key in hand, carefully holding in his other hand a huge, stunning rose from our front garden. The scent hit me immediately. He had taken so long because he had wrestled the bloom away from its very thorny bush without the aid of clippers in order to surprise me. Because it was getting late I popped it into a bottle and left it by the kitchen sink.
I noticed this morning, as I stood once again at my kitchen sink, how powerful the perfume was, and was reminded of a line from one of my favourite poems, which has also featured as a Kat’s Eye. I felt quite the opposite of what Kavanagh wrote though; rather than “wallow in the… banal”, I was struck by the contrast between the prosaicness of my sink, sponge and Fairy liquid, (other brands are available…), and the glorious natural artistry of the rose that sat next to it. If anything, my very ordinary, domestic setting highlighted the glory of the flower, its delicacy, its scent; its utter beauty.
So, I scribbled a hurried, and not very good haiku, and captured it for memories sake…
To repeat a very old idiom – sometimes it really is good to stop and smell the roses!
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