It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
As I was looking through my photos I saw this one, of miniature roses, taken a few years ago. A friend brought the flowers to me from her garden. I remember, I couldn’t stop looking at them. They were absolutely perfect.
For those of you who are wondering about the photo of Humphrey Bogart. He is not a relative or family acquaintance. I saw his photo in an antique store and for some reason it came home with me. For others who have no clue who Humphrey Bogart is, he was a film and stage actor in the forties and early fifties. He became a cultural icon of the time. Maybe, the fact that this is one of my favorite eras in history contributed to my purchase. As with many things in our home, this old photo has a special meaning to me.
Moving on from Mr. Bogart, these tiny, flawless roses made me think of a blog I read yesterday from Jaya, Small Town Musings. She wrote about periwinkles. I have always thought they were purple flowers. Remember the crayon, periwinkle blue? It is one of my favorites. As it turns out these tiny flowers come in many different colors.
In these times of pandemics, political upheaval and war, I sometimes find myself overwhelmed by the hopelessness of all of it. The small things, like perfect, miniature roses and the many colors of periwinkles are overshadowed by big things that can keep me up at night with worry. Maybe, Sir Conan Doyle was right. Maybe, the little things are the most important.