Smelling the Roses

 

Tonight I stood on tiptoe to smell the roses

I was walking along Panton Street in Cambridge

On the way to the Songsmith Sessions at the Alma Pub

I was unaware at the time that I was going to stop

But stop I did

The soft sweet scent of the pale peachy delicate blooms caused me to halt in my tracks

A gentle intoxicating perfume that hung in the air on that warm and still autumn night

A perfume that aroused my attention beckoning me to stop

A pure scent that wafted all around me

Sweetly filling my being with its sensual perfume

One long single twisty bower hung over the narrow pavement in the twilight

So I stopped and reached upwards on tip toe

Managing to gently cradle one delicate soft bloom in my hand

The aroma was instantly intoxicating and ancient

Taking me back to the days of my youth

Days that glistened with soft sweet rain

When wet cottage gardens were heavily laden with the lingering scents of old blooms

Memories of old English roses, Sweet Williams and Sweet Peas

In that moment standing there, reaching out on that old street pavement I lived my whole life again

Blake was right; each grain of sand does contain a world

And every single bloom becomes a portal to other worlds

A flight of fancy, heaven in the scent of a flower

The universe poured into my body allowing me to access all that is hidden in the world

I stopped to smell the roses on that still autumn evening in Cambridge

While all the world around me rushed on by not seeing, not feeling, never knowing the pleasure

Just oblivious

My world that night was endless and unending

Bound in a scent that transcended time and space

In the hustle and bustle of a world gone mad tell me

Before time and tide runs out

And the world is no more

Will you have ever stopped just to smell the roses?

 

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September 2013

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