Roadside roses are my own personal metaphor for life’s overflowing blessings.
Nature finds a way.
I’ve shared this song before, but it’s that time of year again.
Roadside Roses
As if the scenery weren’t already sweet
The air is alive with wild rose
As if my life weren’t already complete
This mountain of gratitude grows.
Chor. Roadside roses, how they scent the evening air
How they decorate the brambles of the past
Sometimes happiness becomes too much to bear
Some blessings are impossible to grasp.
No need to analyze, no need to think
How these wild gardens came to be
No cause and effect, there is no link
But it feels like they’re blooming for me.
Chor. Roadside roses, how they scent the evening air
How they decorate the brambles of the past
Sometimes happiness becomes too much to bear
Some blessings seem too delicate to last.
Bridge: Don’t take it personal, but make sure you take
The portion that Nature has served
Joy’s universal, and so’s the heartache
Of having more than you deserve.
Chor. Roadside roses, how they scent the evening air
How they decorate the brambles of the past
Sometimes happiness becomes too much to bear
Some blessings are not meant for us to ask.
If I were to linger here and breathe this perfume
Sweeping my duties away
Would I feel entitled, would I start to assume
That I’ve earned the privilege to stay?
Chor. Roadside roses, how they scent the evening air
How they decorate the brambles of the past
Sometimes happiness becomes too much to bear
Some blessings are not meant for us to ask.
Some blessings are impossible to grasp.
G. Wing, June 2013
Now multiply this by an entire island
Do you have a favorite nature metaphor of your own? I collect them. Care to share?
Mmm…
Wing's World 
I tried to post this on your blog but apparently don’t remember my password. so sending this to you here.
Love and blessings,
Lorna
The Roses By Mary Oliver
One day in summer when everything has already been more than enough the wild beds start exploding open along the berm of the sea; day after day the honey keeps on coming in the red cups and the bees like amber drops roll in the petals; there is no end, believe me! to the inventions of summer, to the happiness your body is willing to bear.
Hey, that came through just fine! Also…the last line feels eerily familiar. Thanks for sending—I hadn’t run into this one of hers yet.