The Florist’s

I have a flaming, vivid memory of being taken into a florist’s shop at a very young age. From a blazing Texas afternoon into a quite cool, dark and moist cave-like environment. Glass doors dripping with precipitation. Fluorescent lighting illuminated a riotous variety of color. And the smell. It was the most wonderful sledgehammer of non-food odors I’d ever encountered.

To this day I tend to veer through the floral section when I’m in a grocery store just to bump that mental image picture.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s