THE FLOWER BLOOMS.
The flower blooms when we least expect it. I felt the presence when I was pottering around the garden. The garden fascinated me; I could spend days outdoors smelling the roses. I am not sure why; we have our own story. My story can be different from yours, but it is the one telling it that gets the glorification. I spent my time recalling stories for all to hear, that was my way and my opinion. Maybe it might not have been the truth, but it was my truth. The real way of knowing the truth is not that simple. We all know that one person that really thinks their way is the true and tested way. I am not on that path. I see things but that does not allow judgement on my part to be proactive. I notice the smells; I pick up on the textures and I realise we all have a way of partaking in this world. I can feel that for I had a similar story, a story that took me out of my own comfort zone. A story that can leap from all bounds and show a softer side of myself. I was my own worst e...