yellow roses
The white polystyrene box sat on the beach. The delivery man a photographer.
The anticipation thumped in my heart.
I’d dreamt of yellow, symbolic of joy, and a mature love.
Margaret, retired, showed me her photo, and agreed to let me copy her style.
The lid came off.
There they lay, in their absolute beauty, promising hope, and new beginnings.
A card. 'good luck’ from Margaret. Florist.
Everything was as it should be. Balanced with the sunrise.
I carried the cascade of yellow roses to the summit.
We married.
Forever.
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