One day, at the beginning of the month, I found myself running errands, a simple enough process.  But since statewide COVID numbers saw a spike, I started to take decisions on excursions more seriously and outings have become rare.

When I found myself heading back home after a dental consult, it was just past 11:00 in the morning. I decided to treat myself to carry-out kabobs for lunch. Noon-a-Kabob had a lunch special that would more than satisfy my craving for grilled meat and dill rice and yield leftovers that could be a good start on dinner.

As I wandered along the wrought iron fencing around their parking lot, I stopped at a rose bush, poking maybe two feet above the ground, sporting a half dozen or so dark pink blooms.

Apparently, the flowers didn’t get the memo. It was December. The city started to enforce their winter parking ban (towing cars parked overnight on major boulevards in case they had to whip into action to remove snow), and after sunset, temperatures had already started to dip into the twenties, the thirties, for sure.

I was charmed by this small example of beauty, wrapped into a type of defiance. How dare these flowers hang on to their bushes so late in the year?

I couldn’t help but be impressed by the roses on this bush.

Until they absolutely can’t cling on to their home shrub any more, they have no choice but to fulfill their nature.

They take whatever nutrients they can get from the soil, accept the weather in all forms, grow into the fullness of hue that they are supposed to be, and they keep going regardless of losses. as their own petals pull away and drop off.

I like to contemplate beauty that takes me by surprise. Certainly, if I’m in an art museum or walking along the lake, or staring at the random dance moves of a flame in a fireplace, I expect to be pleased with what’s in front of my eyes.

But there’s something extra beautiful about seeing a deer running near the woods around a garbage dump or seeing nighttime stars near a city when the sky is rarely clear enough. These sightings celebrate your ability to tune in to the moment as much as the beauty of the object in your field of vision.

I also like to contemplate beauty as perfection in something. I can see beauty in things that are not perfect in appearance like the perfect timing of when you got “the check in the mail.” I like to look at an older person’s face and see how, beyond the wrinkles or the shape of a nose, unconditional love is clearly in a gaze.

I delayed going in the line to order. I wanted to hang out with these roses.

Their beauty was not in their color.

Their beauty was not in the mystery of their design. Rose petals spiral in a special way. While  protecting their center, they give the illusion of volume and fullness that belies the actual breadth of their combined surface.

The beauty of this rose bush, and each individual flower, was in its audacity. I found myself so affected, so inspired by how something could will itself to face the cold wind just to see what the next day has in store.

I fell in love with the way the rose bush displayed the beauty of its nature whether or not anyone noticed.

Owning your own beauty, whether or not it is seen, is no small thing.