Delicate. Scented. Sensuous.
Every corner of the estate is filled with the softly intoxicating aroma of roses – wild ones and the garden variety.
In those barefoot moments of the first hot summer days, I find myself ensconced in withering petals as they rain down off the bushes in the slightest breeze. Lescure has turned languid and slow, and no work gets done. After saying goodbye to very special friends, who agreed to come play with us and exchange ideas about the future of Lescure, Thomas and I are spending our days in a hammock. We’re reminiscing, smiling a bit, crying a bit, holding on to the spiritual high we have experienced with these beautiful people. We speak of gratitude and try to read important books, but we keep falling into sleep and into enchanted dreams of the future.
Thanks to our friends, we’re back in a simpler time of sacred presence in nature and in deep breathing. The fragile rose is June’s birth flower and it has come bearing the gift of deep rest, joy, inspiration and magic. Bliss!