At the end if this week, after reading harrowing headlines, I took myself downtown to Manhattan’s flower district. I immersed myself in the scent and beauty of nature’s floral bounty.
I must say it soothed me. All of the luscious blooms and greens on the sidewalks and in the storefronts.
According to an NY Times article, the Flower District originally began around a ferry dock on East 34th Street, where pushcart vendors would gather to buy and sell flowers being shipped across the river from Long Island. They relocated in the 1890s to 28th St. where the city’s flower vendors remain today. Here is what I saw:
Afterward, I came home, put my dog on my lap and picked up the phone to call some friends, NO texting today, I wanted to speak to them and hear their voices. I put my feet up and kicked back. I took stock and felt many things at once, but the thing that was overwhelming was not the fear or the questions that linger in the trails of the headlines. That thing was gratitude. It filled me to the brim. In the peak of that divine moment, my dog leaped off my lap: my husband was home.