And so gratitude grows up like a rose among the thorns.
This is all there is.
This one rose.
This one sunlit window seat.
This one painted mug filled with steaming coffee.
This one warm moment to savour.
Look around and all is barbed and spiny.
The light does not reach, the heat does not penetrate.
The coffee grows cold.
The pottery is brittle and will one day break.
This one rose, this one moment, is not enough.
But turn back, and this is all there is.
This one precious moment is all
This one fragrant rose still grows up,
Beautiful among thorns.
[February 2012, first posted here]