The yellow rose was blooming. Each morning I went to her to lose and find myself in her silken ruffles and heavenly scent. Elsewhere, somewhere beyond the garden walls, bloody wars were taking place, children were being trafficked across borders, whales were being slaughtered, rainforests were disappearing and there were sick, hungry and desperate people everywhere.
The yellow rose knew of it all, communicated to her through an intricate underground network of roots spanning the entire globe. She was often sad when she heard of these things and some mornings did not feel like opening herself to the world.
But each morning she told herself that even though she did not know how she could help and even though it was sometimes a great effort because her heart was so heavy, she would go on doing what she could and what she knew to do. She would bloom anyway.
When I visited her each morning, I gave thanks for her efforts and I did my very best to learn from her example that I, too, must bloom anyway.
Love and courage,