There is a certain flower shop, in a certain shopping centre in a particular suburb that I find myself drawn to. It’s not located in the most glamorous of suburbs. Nor is the centre itself renowned for it’s brands or quality items for purchase.
Quite the opposite actually.
But in this store lays the most unexpected find; an exquisite display of potted orchids. Bright, vibrant and white they are. Standing tall in circular formation rooted deeply within a minimalistic matte white base.
When I waltz past this store I am ever so captivated by their charm. But I’ve never actually crossed the threshold into that store. Never seen their natural grandeur up close. But I’ve guesstimated that they’re priced around $200. Is that reasonable? I have no idea.
Entranced and allured by their beauty, they’ve found their way into my daydreams. And now I dream of these daily. Envision bringing them home and raging an internal debate over where to place my newest family member. To plant them on my wooden coffee table? Or perhaps on the glossy white cabinet against the wall which houses my TV? They would also look rather dapper atop a stack of Kinfolk magazines…
Ah yes in such daydreams I have a roof over my head. And perhaps this is why I escape to such fantasies. Why I find myself irrevocably attracted to some floral orchids. Anticipating catching a glimpse or two every time I enter this shopping centre. Glimpses which set my heart alight and motion for much needed light in such putrid darkness.