Imagine them chatting quietly as they imagine where these particular blossoms will go. Imagine harvest day. Suddenly severed from their roots, the brilliant purples and yellows now need cold just as much as they needed heat just a few seconds ago. Imagine the thump of tires on the highway. Imagine a telephone ringing.
Someone tells someone that someone has died.
They share some minutes remembering a life that touched both of theirs. Imagine another phone call. Imagine a florist imagining a design, arranging the blossoms and twigs and leaves and moss, perhaps while thinking how many people seem to have died in the last couple of weeks. Imagine a pastor standing alone in a sanctuary, looking at the flowers that have arrived for the funeral. Thank you, Lord.