There is a point every summer when my rosebushes start looking a little rough.

They’re still blooming. Technically. But mixed in with all the new growth are flowers that peaked a week ago and are now brown around the edges, petals barely hanging on.

And this is the part of growing roses that has always felt a little counterintuitive to me:

You have to cut them off.

There’s something about this time of year that always makes me want to open the windows. Even before anything actually gets cleaned, I find myself reaching for fresh air.

And every year, without really thinking about it, I start pulling things out. But it’s never just about getting things “clean.” It’s more like this quiet urge to reset something. To make space.