Her little flower shop is two stories of old red brick and wood, with large windows overlooking the sidewalk. From within, she looks at passerby. Some people see only the surface, but when she looks at others, she sees them in colors, smells their unique scents. Something that defines them, but every person is not defined by just one thing. All humans are a collection of backgrounds, interests, and passions. Some colors are pure and bright and lovely to look at, while other colors are dark and muddy. Some scents are attractive, lavender or vanilla, while others can be overwhelming.
For better or worse, these endless colors and scents influence the growth of every person. She looks at herself in the mirror and in every hue of blue, with every hint of lemon, she sees her father; her mother is shades of red and the smell of cinnamon. Her friends are shades of oranges and greens and pinks; the smell of lilac, coffee, chocolate. She sees herself and those important to her and how theyâve allowed her to grow over the years.
The weather outside is gloomy- chilly, ugly, gray. It explains why itâs slow that day, but the inside of her shop is warm and while sheâs contemplating closing early, the tiny bell above the door signals an arrival and she looks up from the plant sheâs tending and smiles.Â
âWelcome.â
