There was a fire under the train tracks yesterday. No one was hurt, thank goodness, but my commute from downtown to Evanston went from 50ish minutes to 4ish hours. As you might imagine, the train car was packed, sweltering hot, and smelled of body odor and fried chicken. And not the good kind of friend chicken, either.
By the time my feet hit solid ground, I was just about ready to explode.
…Lucky for me, my walk home included a stroll through a public rose garden. It’s always a pretty little swath of park, but last night must have been the peak of the season. I’m telling you, no lie, there must have been thousands of roses in bloom, each of them beautiful than the next, each of them smelling so much better than fried chicken.
I always try my best to always appreciate whatever nuggets of beauty I can find in the course of my day, but yesterday, of all days, I have never been more grateful for those roses.
|The park has every color rose you can imagine, but I have a fondness for big fat pink roses!|