Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

The greening shoot was almost lost in graying cold wet day. It trembled in a morning breeze. It shuddered as a teasing squirrel nipped its tip and fled. It shrank as dead beneath snow’s blanket fallen overnight, bewailed its plight. And then it reached for sun and shone, daffodil bright.

I remember helping in the yard when I was small and roses broad and tall. Thorns long as needles pricked my skin, and petals gray as cobwebs daubed my hair. I remember hating roses then, mistaking their perfume for scents of soil for worms and beetles, grubs and toil, their color for despair. I remember wondering was it a sin to hate yard-work when God had made such a beautiful world to live in. Then I grew up. My husband brought me roses sweet as love with sprouting shoots I nurtured till new blossoms spread their beauty in my yard. Written for ReadWritePoem #16 scents and memories