On the move

Why am I always in such a hurry? It isn't just me, is it? Everyone is running. I should've stopped... as they say, to smell the roses. All we ever smell is the stink. All we ever see is the filth. And we choose to live with that. And then the day comes when we can't stand the stench any longer. So we choose to move on. 

As I move on today, I can't help but reflect on what I leave behind. And no, it's not the stink that I remember. 

True, there were falls to be had and hurts to be endured. Some wounds festered and a few healed over time, but the scar tissue remained. But today, none of that matters. In hindsight, it never really mattered even then. I was a fool then. Maybe I still am. But at least not in the same ways. I would be fooled again. I might fall again and get my knees scraped. But not in the same places. I'd be wiser. The wounds hopefully wouldn't be so deep then. 

As I move on today, I remove the poultices. But no, it's not the wounds I remember. 

I walk past the garbage dump and take a turn. Preening out from the fencing is a shrub of roses in full bloom. I had walked past them everyday without ever according the sight much time. 

Before I move on today, I stop. And I go closer, bend, and then get down on one knee. Today, I smell the roses.