Vignette 16

I stepped up to the Flower Market knowing that the property would soon be mine. Bucket upon bucket of individuated stems pointed up at me like an assembly of faces. How pleasant each one looked and smelled. Some drooped elegantly in purple, some extended large pointed petals in white, others looked as soft as ruffled pillows of pink silk. How could I choose between orchid, daffodil or rose when all of the exotic beauties were subdivided and partitioned, cut from their roots and ready to die? Instead of purchasing cut-flowers, I would send the lovelies to their graves, in the form of a mulch, by ripping the sidewalk up from beneath them and planting a plot of seedlings.