I buy myself flowers regularly; they provide an instant infusion of beauty into my space.

Flowers are also one of those small luxuries that are easily accessible to anyone. So, I indulge.

I will admit, though, that every year after peony season, I go into a mourning period.  Sunflowers begin appearing in abundance all over the city, all sunny and cheery, but to no avail.  No blossom can move me quite the way the peonies do.

But these last few weeks, my apartment has felt sad, so I decided it was time to open my heart to some other bloom.

Enter the deli selling two dozen roses for $10.

One of the things I love about New York City is that you can find flowers on almost every street corner inexpensively.  This particular deli had such a variety of vibrantly hued roses and a man working in the flower section that offered sunshine in his smile.  So I opened my wallet and bought these long stemmed roses.

Not only were they beautiful, but they were deeply perfumed in that rose scent that seems long forgotten, yet so familiar.


This morning I woke up, my eyes opening and at first sight seeing these roses, and they made me happy.  The buds had burst open, as if they couldn’t contain themselves in all of their sensual voluptuousness.

My day began full of joy brought on by my rose colored moment.