Gray skies linger long.
Snows then rain, energy drains.
Spring is worth the wait.
Flowers for me are tools of joy.
Much like gold, spun fine then threaded through long needles, they’re stitched together into the rich handiwork before me.
Gentle hues in harmony, pleasing to my weary eyes.
Offering light gifts of perfume, floating on a breeze in my direction.
Their soft long petals offering respite, as the monarch has found deep within.
The seamstress today is not me, but a smiling street vendor proudly showing off her bouquets one by one.
I too was a flower artist as a young girl.
Now my smiles are more golden than my handiwork.
But the joy remains forever priceless.