It’s the fragrance I notice.
Every time.
Coming back to this…
back outside,
back into the garden,
back among the roses…
I do love the blooms…
the different, delicate petals,
the colours.
But the one thing that stops me in my tracks…
is the fragrance.
It stops me without warning.
I’ll be doing something small…
and then it’s there.
And I breathe in.
Deeply.
Without thinking.
And something shifts.
My nanna’s rose soap…
A warm afternoon in my mum’s garden…
Sometimes I can place it…
other times, I’m left wondering where I’ve known it before.
Each rose carries something different.
Some are true rose…
rich, velvety, unmistakable.
Some feel warm…
like petals held in the sun.
Some are light and fleeting…
there for a moment, then gone before you realise.
Warmer days deepen it…
cooler air lets it drift.
Always changing.
Never trying.
Nature’s perfume.
And there’s something in it that feels…
gentle.
Like it meets you where you are.
I didn’t realise how much I missed that.
