I kept seeing these two scenes on every trip down route one. I resisted making the effort at first. Those old-fashioned roses, cascading through the untamed forest, just where Ni River crosses route one . . . there is no shoulder on the road only a concrete culvert. But they are amazing. Wild and vibrant along the side of the road, thriving, as if they had something to prove. It was this morning, soft rain falling, that I finally made the trip. I pulled on my rain boots and old jeans to protect my legs from thorns. I enlisted the help of my husband as driver to drop me off on the side of the road. Nestled among those roses, I discovered joy for this day. Sometimes finding joy feels like too much to ask.
It is the same for the solitary magnolia tree with the hay bale. Every time I drive by I marvel at those perfect hay bales, like big spools of thread. I wonder about Otis Kay and if he’s been getting any phone calls from people with horses to feed.
It’s like magic, seeing these things. Like grace and compassion and comfort for human pain and suffering. I do not take this gift for granted.