Bit by bit, the orchid inches open. One, then two wings of petals unfold, drawing aside the edges of the veil cast over the insides.
And outside, wet snow is falling. Slop. Glop. Making a mock of the January thaw.
Tomorrow there will be wet shoveling to do. And after that, a cup of tea. And with that, an orchid, a pink exile from the tropic lands it never saw, to admire.