Tonight I got to thinking about the rose garden my dad built me when I was 11. I used to spend hours out there, pruning, digging, fertilizing, or just reading or writing in my journal. But time walks on, things change, we change… That garden nourished me, was my friend when I needed it. Then I grew up. I had my first kiss. I fought with girlfriends, tried on different colored versions of myself, dreamt of what sorority I’d pledge and living in a dorm, falling in love with a prince, wearing that white dress and living happily ever after. I left home. I came back. The garden was always there waiting for me. But my family dissipated and the garden, along with the rest of that house was just a shell. A skeletal structure where only beautiful memories could fill the spaces between its bones. That little girl is all grown up now; a little worse for wear and a bit over-cautious, but stronger and wiser. Maybe it’s time for her to start a new garden.