smelling the roses

if there is one thing to know about me, it's this: flowers inspire me. fresh flowers of all kinds. the life, the color, the joy. these past few mornings, i can't help but stop to smell the roses. quite literally and absolutely figuratively. flowers have a seductive presence, casting a spell over the passersby, and inevitably invalidating any prospect of completing a moment's thought. i run and then i stop. i walk down aisles at the market, and again, i stop. i sit here, trying to write this post, only to find myself stopping. and i think that's what i love about fresh flowers. they are so beautifully powerful that they remind me to stop. and be captivated. and be present.

my good morning sunshines

i am reading a wonderful memoir about an australian expat living in paris. i think he describes my sentiment perfectly:

"the term flaneur exists only in french, describing a person who spends entire days wandering aimlessly with the express purpose of doing little more than taking in whatever he sees. a french man is never in danger of running too quickly past the roses to ever stop and smell them. a french man is forever lolling about in the rose bed, happily avoiding the rat race and concentrating on the serious business of simply being."

here's to life.