Petals and Rain

I was standing there ironing when he came in, the picture of the perfect wife. It had been a grey, humid morning. The scent of rain was in the air, with the promise in the dark light of the clouds. It had been a quiet morning. I had been cleaning, while he had been working on the computer. Sometimes, Sunday mornings hold a sweetness to them. They don't have the bustle of a Friday or Saturday. They're simply calm and lazy, perfect for lounging around and watching shows on Discovery. Sundays are days for delayed showers, for washing cars and writing stories. This Sunday had been full of hugs and kisses, of lazy pats on the back.

While ironing, he came in with a proud grin on his face and thrust flowers at me: daisies and irises. I squealed and carefully put down the iron before launching myself at him for a hug. Together, we put the flowers into water and set them on the table. Ben even arranged them carefully, moving the flowers to look like a purchased bouquet. I wiggled in delight and gave him a hug.

"That was so sweet of you, honey," I said. "I wasn't expecting this at all."

"I know," he said. "But I know you don't like grey days. I thought this might cheer you up."

And it did. After all, bright yellow daisies certainly chase away the grey. Not to mention flowers for no reason, no occassion- just out of sweetness and love.