Creating a Life of Roses

She sensed I was sinking.  I didn't know I was.

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With time, clarity.

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At the driveway between the Big House where she lived, and the Carriage House where I lived, backed by 50 acres of wood & pasture with horses & dogs & cats, and solitude, she slipped me a volume, 

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Flower and The Nettle: Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1936-1939.

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A life raft.

Written at Long Barn, above, the home she rented from, Vita Sackville-West, Morrow mentions a moment.  Coming into the room, a climbing rose tendril & bloom had fallen inside the open window.

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In that instant I was crying, heaving cannot breath tears.

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My life was horrible, and no where near having something as beautiful and sweet as a rose blossom falling into my house from the garden.

Jumping forward a decade+, I walked into my home office, upstairs, opened the window, and a climbing rose, dropped tendril & blossom softly onto my desk.
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This rose said, "You've been flying for quite awhile, you grew the wings you needed."   Until that moment, I had forgotten those heaving tears a decade earlier.  New tears, as unexpectedly, with the same heaving force, except I was catching breaths between laughter.
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Jumping forward 2 decades, I'm still in awe of these 2 roses, anchoring a decade, and the start of living.
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Garden & Be Well,    XO Tara
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Pics from Yale library, here.  This is my Janus, January, story, what is yours?
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Of course I read all of Morrow's books after the 1st gift.  Have given them as gifts.  Paying it forward.  Giving it your all?  Not happy?  Buy the book, hit the link.