A bus pulled up to the stop, airbrakes hissing; a man stepped down, our paths converging on the
arrangement set on a utility box. I quickened my pace, Ping trotting to keep up.
Pearlescent morning light silvered the sherbet hues of the blooms. Lime and vanilla hydrangea
wreathed the glass bowl; pink roses and a golden shimmer of a calla lily arced left and right. I
raised my camera.
The man waited by the ornamental fence between us and the grass beyond. Ping sat near him, all
white curls and attentive dark eyes, pending the resumption of our walk.
He had seen the blooms from the bus, he said, and thought he would give them to his neighbor,
an elderly lady with cancer, as he had done before, and scrolled through photographs on his
phone. His nails were ragged and dirty, his jaw stubbled. A worn, red polo draped over sloping
shoulders and the curve of his belly. I took a half-step back from that unbathed body. Ping, sweet
and tidy from the groomer, remained patient.
“Have a good day,” I said. He lifted the bowl, careful of wilting petals and drooping stems. I
watched him cross the street and disappear into a doorway opposite.
Ellen B Cutler is an art historian and freelance writer. Her recent book, “From The Depths: Dyslexia, Bipolar Disorder, and the Triumph of Art” came out in 2026. “Walpole, PiC and Me” will appear in the fall 2026 issue of “The Hugh Walpole Review.” She lives in East Boston, Massachusetts.