It is a preference of mine at this time of the year to bring roses into the apartment. They are so clearly alive.
There is a softness to the curves by which they loosen, moving from tightly enclosed bud into blossom.
The white makes the green look greener. When I have branches of pine or fir to tuck around the white roses, something complicated occurs. Some collaboration between the ways nature grows and matures -- green needle, white petal -- seems a human thing to contemplate.
A shrine emerges to the heart. Something very personal, very individual -- a question feels posed for which the heart tries to be ready, winter or no.