an anonymous bouquet

found on the doorstep before the milk. half a dozen pale buds in a colour you could not name to a florist. tied with butcher's twine. a small card, unmarked on both sides, lay tucked under the string.

you looked up and down the street; no one. the cat at the window had been the only witness and the cat was not telling. see visitor, stranger, knock, the visitor who stayed.

it now stands in the front hall in a tall glass. you check the card again on your way through. it is still empty. it is going to stay that way.

field-note — most anonymous bouquets turn out, in time, to have a name. a few do not. those are the ones you keep the longest, pressed into a book that was already too full.

see also: an apology bouquet · a mourning bouquet · a bouquet for an arrival · a pressed flower