The Travels of a Bouquet by Ginger Schmandt

White, clean, cold snow… clinging to the old gray stairs.

Up them I could hear footsteps.

Footsteps followed by a quiet tapping on my door.

Music in my living room, children outside screaming into the snow … tap, tap, tap, again.

Cars driving through slush … I am silent … listening … his voice outside, “It’s me.”

I heard his voice and melted.

I opened the creaky front door to the clean smell of freshly fallen snow.

His presence left me temporarily speechless.

“What is he doing - this crazy man!?”

Bright blue eyes meeting my surprised look.

He sported the most loving smile I have ever seen as he witnessed mine.

I pulled him into my home from the freezing elements.

The chill entered as the warmth exited.

                                               He handed me flowers as we hugged like we had never done.

There was a chill on the outside of his coat … his arms were so inviting.

The taste of a snowflake on his shoulder, and fresh coffee on his lips I will never forget.

And then the flowers, bright, colorful flowers

A crackling of plastic

Holding together such beautiful colors

Fresh smelling flowers

The beautiful flowers and your lovely words made me cry.

Our hug was as close as the bunched flowers

I did not want to let go

The softness of your hands after removing them from your gloves

Were softer than the bouquet that traveled to me.