We are enthusiastically greeted at the florist's in the Next-Door Village, - I haven't seen you in a long time. We tell the story, the accident, caused by a seventeen-year-old on a scooter; he nods, sympathizes, steps aside to reveal his shop of wonders.
Long tables rest against one wall, covered in greens and whites and December smells. The wheel chair barely makes it through the paths, as we stop to admire compositions in black & white, an aubergine-red rose enclosed in christmas green.
Simple christmas carols sound on the system - wham and last year, I gave you my heart. The same the same, each year, wham gave their heart away last year; but this year I can take it, this year is new either way.
We walk away with pre-spring buds and a sober bouquet featuring white roses; fill the living room with candles, moreover, in celebration of the first day of pre-christmas