A Pot of Yellow Chrysanthemums


She poked her right lobe with a one-inch wide, thin 14 karat gold hoop, unconsciously slamming the shiny wood grain box closed. Bending down to grab her black patent heels, she stopped herself from almost knocking the sliding closet door off its track. A last look in the mirror reflected the obvious.


Ruby checked the contents of her black leather bag again. Will she be late? Yes. No. Yes! Then there’s time to put away last night’s dishes: an octagonal off-white dinner plate well known for its Braille-like white design; a Waterford wineglass, a Colleen, in voice and pattern; and the generic mug silently sermonizing about the rewards of friendship, which she had sipped from while finishing up the last few pages of Love Story into the early morning hours.


Now, standing in front of the bay window, looking over the withering brown lawn, her nostrils…

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