AN: This fic was inspired by a painting that my mother’s friend gave to her. The painting had gotten my mother’s friend Marsha a scholarship for college, and my mom was very happy to receive the painting. Today, Marsha lives in Minneapolis and does sculptures. You know those big huge ones you see in business parks or in front of major corporations? Those are the kind she loves to do, but she also does smaller pieces. So with out further ado on to the fic...

The Flower Lady

She sat in the middle of her shop arranging the flowers in one container for near the entrance door to her little corner of the universe. People walked by and watched as she arranged the flowers, patiently putting those that fell back into place. There were frog holders to her right and florist's tape to her left. There was the hum of the refrigerated units, but no other sound, except when the Flower Lady would fill a vase with water from her watering can.

Her shop wasn’t big, it was small and cozy, and not overly decorated. But whatever the time of year or day, people loved the quietness of her shop. They loved the quiet and comfort the atmosphere of flowers gave. It was the perfect place to buy flowers for someone special. There were at least a hundred varieties. Irises, Daffodils, Daises, and of course the ever present Roses. She had Orchids too; both air and soil varieties. Then there were the living plants, like shamrocks, cacti, and planted daisies. Gift cards were in the left corner along with a small balloon station. It was a cluttered shop: a peaceful type of organized chaos.

But her personal favorites were the Birds of Paradise that she would order once a year, just for the end of summer. The bright orange of the sharp-looking petals stood out amongst all the green. The unique design had always captured the Flower Lady's imagination: the Birds of Paradise looked like a summer sunset. It was the end of summer now, so she had plenty, but they always sold out. And she never would keep one for herself. And yet she treated those the best, like they were her children.

People would come into her shop and not know what to get. She would talk to them, and make sure they were getting the right flower of plant. And she always had an encouraging word to say to the customer. To her they weren’t only her customers, but people she wanted to help. They were people who needed help. Sometimes she would just sit and listen, other times she would prepare an arrangement as she intently listened and gave advice. But no matter how busy the Flower Lady was, she was willing to listen. And customers always returned. They said it was because the flowers were the best in the city, but what they really loved was the person who ran the shop, because she never judged. She just listened.

So whatever the reason people came, and continued to come and make themselves known. And the Flower Lady was always there to help.

And so she continued to share with the community and even some that were outside of it. Her life was full and rich. Never once did she wish for a husband or children, she only wished for people to help, people to listen to. She always knew how to brighten the darkest day; especially with flowers. If she discovered you were having a bad day, you always found a bundle of flowers on your doorstep, and you always knew it came from the Flower Lady.

Sadly, her life did end, as all life does, and her spirit left its earthly comforts. But her memory remained. And on her grave every year was Bird of Paradise, presented by the community.

Fifteen years had passed since the Flower Lady had died and her shop stood empty. But on this anniversary of her death there stood a lone girl of nineteen in front of the rundown flower shop. And this girl was determined to become the next Flower Lady, like the owner before her and the owner before her.

Much like the cycle of the flowers the Flower Lady sold, there was a cycle of Flower Ladies. In the same shop, accomplishing the same things.