It is rose season in my little desert town. Tonight I got out for a walk at sunset. And like Beauty’s papa from the fairy tale, I was sorely tempted to steal roses. This rose especially.
It smelled so good. Nothing like an heirloom rose. I could take it and say it was an accident. I was just reaching up to smell it, and I accidentally snapped it off. I don’t know my own strength. I am so sorry. I promise to give it a wonderful home on my table. It will be very happy in my prettiest bud vase.
I almost took it with me.
But bad things happen in fairy tales when roses are taken without asking. So I didn’t take it. I breathed in deep. I took a picture. I walked on and thought about a favorite story from a new (botanical) angle.
Walking never fails to inspire me. I love clearing my head with a quiet stroll. Also love how plots untangle and scenes build themselves into place when I go for a walk. What do you do to push past a block or get the words going?