"Even the humblest creations contain their own special beauty to share with the world. Just like the sun returns in full each summer and hides away in the winter, you must find your own balance between shining and keeping your light under wraps."
Source: http://www.flowermeaning.com/marigold-flower-meaning/
golden, copper and brass, warm, fierce and bright, bursting passion shared on a rainy day.
Rain drummed steadily on rooftops, transferring restless energy to Camille as she tapped out a tense rhythm on the wooden countertop. Gusts of wind tore across the car-congested streets, amber streetlights shining brightly, the liquid sliding drearily across windowpanes, swept away by windshield wipers, drawn into streets and gutters, like the monotony of the day, draining away...
The sky was a dreary grey and showed no sign of letting up the deluge, the influx of precipitation, and Camille had nowhere to go, really, simply bored from the hollow emptiness of a customer-less store. It had been a slow day, after all...
If only she had a cup of green tea. Anyone else who had a sample would complain of its bitter taste, but she supposed she had more cultured tastes than the uncultured brutes.
The door swung open with a gentle chime, and she peered upwards to see Lloyd wiping his boots and looking overall like a drowned cat, sunflower-golden hair dripping and all, a sheepish smile already adorning his face for an apology, and her thoughts of herb-infused tea went up in the steam she had imagined it exuding.
"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays this courier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds."
"Honey, you're dripping rain all over the floor."
(Perhaps it had been her green tea deprivation that had led to her evident sarcasm, pooling, acrid and bitter in her throat.)
"Well...I can help water your flowers?"
She let out another annoyed huff, simply putting her hand over her eyes and shaking her head.
"I've got a spare rain jacket for you when you head out. If you get a cold, you're never hearing the end of it from me, you hear? Last time I heard, you weren't a post officer. Also, referring to yourself in third person is always a bad sign---dissociation is often detrimental to one's mental health."
She dropped down from her stool and knelt behind the desk, quickly locating a drawer, pulling it open and grabbing several fresh towels before selecting one and lobbing said towel at him.
"Mind your own health. Don't come complaining to me if you come down with the sniffles," she hummed, and for a good measure muttered something about an umbrella.
It was pink, glittery, and endowed with all sorts of floral frills and sparkles, making for a terrifying sight.
She lent it to him (more like threatened) with all of her matronly force as well as the rain jacket.
He told her he cherished it and would carry it for all his rainy days to display his affections to the world in a shower of rainbow sparkles.
She wisely refrained from commenting.
After drying off to a semblance of a dried cat instead of a drowned one, he meandered over to a shelf nearby Camille, to the right-end of the store in which some flowers, labeled 'Rainy Day Sales' resided, looking quite vibrant and warm, as if to fight against the dreary pervading chill of the falling rain.
Florets like blossoming fireworks, ruffled petals vivid garnet and copper-orange set in a vase of frosted glass.
"I'd like to purchase these, madam." He said, polite as a perfect gentleman as he carefully lifted the vase upward and set it upon the wooden desk.
Once again she listed out the price and he paid. Soon after he simply handed the vase back to her as if it had been hers all along. Well, it had been, in a way.
"Marigolds," he declared, taking one out by the verdant stem and twirling it delicately about his fingers, here and there, "Elegance. Devotion. The beauty and radiating warmth of the rising sun, and winning the affections of someone through hard work."
She smiled, the warmth suffusing him from his very toes, just like the rising sun he had just depicted. Winning the affections of someone through hard work, indeed.
"Although it has gained some negative meanings over time, in the modern era most of them remain positive."
She raised an eyebrow, daring him to go on.
"You should really sell more of your flowers...Maybe advertise by the street or something? They're really amazing....Fresh and beautiful, you can make anything grow if you try."
She let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment and then offering him a piercing gaze.
"This is the best you've chosen yet. I suppose I should hold you to higher standards now...Winning my affection through hard work? I suppose you've earned it...and...I'll think of something."
"And...thank you."
She skirted around the wooden stool behind the desk and stood upon her tiptoes beside him before smiling mischievously and humming,
"Consider that affection...."
before quickly pecking him on the cheek,
"Earned."
Once again he strode out with flushed cheeks like roseate carnations and gaudy sparkling floral umbrella in hand, clad in a vivid halogen-bright rain-coat, disappearing into dreary traffic with a lovestruck expression.
Perhaps she hadn't needed any green tea, because she felt far warmer than before, yes, a tingling feeling lingered and refused to depart with her restless form.
YOU ARE READING
flowers in bloom
Short Story. . Like the (fragile) love between me and you. . . Florist AU prompt: I work as a florist and every day you walk in, buy one flower and give it to me.
