December roses are special!

When we arrived at my sister’s for Thanksgiving in Tennessee, her roses were still blooming. A few hardy blossoms hung on for several frosts and one 19-degree night. It was remarkable to see all the autumn reds, golds & russets in the Smoky Mountain sunshine with flowers blooming in the foreground.

     Flying home, I saw clear blue skies in every direction out the plane window. Puffy clouds drifted by as we edged into a cold front over Mississippi. Within a few minutes, my view of the ground was completely obstructed by a mantle of lumpy white quilt batting. The clouds had formed a beautiful, solid comforter.

A blanket of cloud

     Here and there an updraft caused an irregularity in the blanket illusion. A singular cloud would be lifted and strung out from a stratocumulus to a stringy cirrus, indicating wind. I thought that was a lot like life, looking all warm and cozy but containing a few updrafts. Sure enough, as the plane descended through the mantle of white, it was anything but soft.

     At the Dallas airport, we were greeted by a cold north wind, flash flood warnings and temporary Internet disruption. At home, we found a damp carpet and stopped up sewer. Talk about bumpy clouds!

     Mostly I think my life has been a picture postcard of blessed peace. I get lazy; I get bored; I forget. The parts I remember best are the bumps in the cloud cover when I was in the emergency room or a loved one died. It’s not easy to forget backed up sewers, either.

     When experiencing an “updraft,” about all I can do is hang on and get through it. Turbulence in life makes me strong and helps me appreciate the times of calm.

     Last week a friend in Texas sent photos of her rose blossoms and said, “Probably the last of the year.”

     December roses are a smooth part of the quilt batting. What a wonderful winter perk–one I’ll try to remember when there’s ice on the windshield and the car won’t start.