At King George station, the shrub roses are flowering. They're a bit late, along with everything else, but they're in bloom.
Roses have the loveliest fragrance, I think, though this week I brought in a heavenly bunch of lily of the valley in from the garden.
Still, there is something special these roses. They are single-petalled, like the wild roses I remember from childhood. These are a little bigger than their wild cousins, but their perfume is just as rich and the dark pink just as gorgeous.
Like their wild cousins, they're survivors. Over the years of commuting I have more than once worried for their lives when they were brutally and unevenly cut back nearly to the ground. But they keep coming back. Each year they bloom from spring to late fall.
Each time I pass, I pause to sniff one individual bloom. It's a little ritual to remind me to enjoy life. No matter how rushed our pace, I tell myself, I have time to literally stop and smell the roses.