7:48 am. I step outside, ready to go inspire some kids. The air is cool and damp under an overcast sky. There are my roses, standing beside our cabin. They are a fickle lot, their mood shifting with the light: sometimes gawdy and arrogant, at other times sleepy and uninspired. Today they are mute red in the weak light, diffident and shrinking into the trees. I don’t really understand how, or why, they enrich my life so. I only know that they do. I am glad they wait outside my door and greet me every morning.