Hydrangeas

Photo by Gaetano Cessati on Unsplash

Balanced on the oatmeal and toilet paper
they reign supreme
on the practical parade towards payment.
The startling miracles of blue, violet
and purple marry only once a year.

Each glance brings a silent gasp in me,
a split second later, another explosion of joy.

So brash and bold, their long stalks strain
to keep the luscious blossoms in place,
straight and safe,
for a time.

Finally, they come to the end of the line.
After an hour of organic chickens and gallons of milk,
the cashier draws a delighted breath.
She holds the bouquet aloft to check the price.

I gasp again.

“They are amazing,” she announces.
“Who are you giving them to?”
“Me,” I say with a hint of conceit.

She hands them to me like she’s transferring valuables.
We await the ribbon of my purchases to emerge.

She muses,

“It’s too bad. You know, they won’t last long.”

I hold them to my heart,

“I know,” I assure her.

“It’s why I love them so.”