The Florist (1 of 3)

Her cubicle held many plants. When the ivy reached the top of the partition, she was asked to remove it. Within the hour, she quit.

The ivy and the other eight were elated with their new alfresco home, filling in the open areas around the base of her prized giant oak.

By 10:00 A.M. that spring morning, the replanting was done. Georgia sat admiring the work she loved to do. If brown-knee awards were ever given, she would be a contender.

At her side was the empty basket given to her by a former worker to transport the flowers. It was old, solid and rustic. She grabbed a fountain of sticks and held them upright, envisioning them in the basket. Her life changed.

With no effort, perfect leaves, moss, twigs, and vegetation were assembled. The kitchen table was commandeered as an assembly line, By dinner time, Georgia had a viable start to her dream. The first finished work of art was completed at 9:30 that evening. Part of Georgia was in the presentation. Georgia – the florist. Why had it taken so long? Even in her cubicle it was obvious. Tears of discovery, tears of serendipity, tears of magic flowed, ushering in perfect harmony.

It wasn’t instant manifestation that followed, but near to it. She would have the idea that baskets were needed and the next garage sale she went to had baskets, many baskets. She needed topsoil and mulch – her neighbor’s husband was in that business and it just so happened . . . A bigger assembly table became urgent, three massive ones emerged outside a warehouse in the nearby industrial park and were given to her.

The magic continued. No matter where she was, she was on purpose. Things that once had no perceptible value were now envisioned in a basket. Teddy bears, model sailboats, and dolls, to name just a few. Each that was accepted became ensconced in a fairytale world made specifically for its attributes. Part of Georgia was in each presentation.

Published by Kumi

Liaison to the Infinite.

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