One Perfect Rose

I always underestimate the charm of an utterly grey day. There’s something so appealing about how dark and subdued the world seems to become, how gloomy and quiet everyone is. It’s not depressing really, but rather acts as a much needed break from the hustle and bustle of the everyday. Even my thoughts slow in pace with the absence of the sun. Somehow the clouds make it easier for me to just breathe.

I was miserable on the last grey day we had. I woke up in an awful mood and could tell right away how dreadful the rest of the day would play out. It was just a morning where I would have given anything to not have to leave the comfort and safety of my bed, not have to face the jungle of the world. I eventually, very reluctantly, got out of bed and made my way to class. I sat in the worst possible seat in front of two girls who spent the entire fifty minutes discussing hair products and makeup directly in my ear, and then headed back home with a permanent grudge against any and every girly-girl. Sometimes I wonder how girls manage to become so shallow, how they allow themselves to be these ditsy idiots with nothing more running through their pretty little heads than boys and hair. Girls like that are always a good reminder of why I don’t want to be a girl like that. But I digress....

In an effort to avoid picking an inevitable fight with my father, I went grocery shopping instead of coming straight home. I made the curve around Wissahickon onto Allen’s Lane as I’ve done so many times before. I nonchalantly glided up to the stop sign, ready to pause more than stop, as fully stopping there is always unnecessary. And there it was. One perfect rose. For the first time probably since I had gotten my license, I stopped for a full five seconds. Perhaps it was longer. It’s hard to tell time when you’re in the presence of something so beautiful.

I guess in many ways, it was ordinary, but something about it's simplicity made it remarkable. It stretched to the sky on it’s enormous green stem. It’s red petals blooming open to reveal their soft overlapping limits, their edges conjoining together at the tips to become smooth and round. It was the perfect shade of red, the color a child would pick from a crayon box. The color entitled ‘rose.’ It was stunningly juxtaposed against the grey sky, stunningly contrasted against the dark and subdued world. It was truly one perfect rose in the jungle of the world. Everything about it was perfect. I smiled at it’s grandeur as I left it.

As I stood in the parking lot opening my trunk to load my newly bought groceries, a man approached me. "Miss..." he began to say, and automatically, I wished he hadn’t. "Can I take your cart from you? Save you a trip back?" A moment passed, the wind picked up and blew my long, white, hippie skirt around me. "Oh, yeah, that would be great," I finally said, "Thanks." I had been thrown off guard by his nice gesture, and then equally thrown by my reaction, my assumption that whatever he wanted was not a selfless, help your fellow neighbor, act. I was shocked by my own cynicism.

I find myself surprised at my thoughts recently. It’s not exactly that I’ve become pessimistic, but I’m certainly less optimistic than I used to be. The bigger my world becomes, the more skeptical I am of everything in it. It’s easier to be happy when you’re unaware, when you don’t have to see the big picture. Ignorance really is bliss. Then again, so is allowing yourself to be aware of these precious moments that reside in each day. There is real bliss in recognizing the beauty of a slow paced day, a kind stranger, a selfless act. In a world that can be so dark and gloomy and grey, there’s comfort and joy in knowing that there’s light beyond the sun. It exists in each of us. The world can be miserable, but it's always there. That one perfect rose.