A sensory selection

Two stores side-by-side.

Both providing potential offerings.

Two stores side-by-side that stood in stark contrast of pace, clientele and stocked shelves.

*

The Newsagent was cavernous.

A mini warehouse providing an overwhelming plethora of choice.

With merchandise overflowing.

A vast expanse with rows of gifts on tables, threatening to topple as children ran between them.

A cluster of Turkish lamps made of mosaic glass.

Crystal vases with deep precision cuts to refract the light.

Crazed glass bowls filled with origami cranes.

Pottery with a variety of coloured glazes.

Quirky and whimsical ceramic mugs, sans handles.

Small decorative three step ladders holding white planters containing artificial lavender and succulents.

Distressed wooden trestle tables with towers of vibrantly patterned cups with saucers, and bowls of all sizes. Jugs, plates, and tea pots.

*

A wall hanging caught her eye.

A photograph of a young man with plump red lips; the backdrop a deep blue cloudless sky.

Below was a wooden slatted sign of red and burnt orange proclaiming in white script letterforms:

’All of me loves all of you.’

A jolted halt of mind and soul.

Confirming with this search for her new journal that the first words would be:

• Ross ~ Big love •

*

Eventually she found the journals.

Over forty options on display with sizes and styles clashing.

The range was difficult for her foggy mind to absorb.

Some were block coloured and flat; others blended from one to another.

Or gold and silver embellished with smooth or embossed covers.

*

She left.

*

Too many to review, let alone make a considered decision.

*

She sat down to rest on a bench outside a discount Manchester store. Her gazing eyes finding focus on a Florist opposite.

*

The store hugged the corner; its wares displayed across the small store front.

A young woman stood still, protective of her exquisite contents.

Hinted and hidden clusters beyond the fragrant floral bouquets.

Baskets woven with cane and brimming with curios.

Ribbons of all colours and dimensions attached to small ornamental pieces.

Christmas not needed to celebrate with simple symbols of delight.

There were tiny ceramic rabbits and vintage tins filled with unknown treasures.

Scents merging, permeating from vessels to create an atmosphere of peace, repose and dreaminess.

*

Then she found it!

*

Not expecting to find notebooks in a Florist!

*

The journal cover was a wrap-around design made of soft tan leather and sensuous to the touch. Secured with twisted twine of orange, brown and beige cotton thread.

Reflective of a quiet autumnal design.

On closer inspection the leather had a fragrance.

Earthy yet perhaps merging with those permeating from the vessels to create an atmosphere of peace, repose and dreaminess?

The paper was handmade.

Unbleached brown and embedded with leaf fragments.

Reflective of a quiet autumnal design.

The pages a suitable thickness for writing. Not flyaway, but stable enough to contain her random thoughts.

Her notations would be embraced and secured by the cover.

A wrap-around design made of soft tan leather and sensuous to the touch. Secured with twisted twine of orange, brown and beige cotton thread. In harmony with the pages of a quiet autumnal design.

“Can I have five?” she assumed more than one available.

The florist apologised as it was her only stock for this item.

Although aware the products were mass produced, this was selectively chosen. Presented like a limited release or made to order item.

A shop more bespoke than extensive collections.

*

Two stores side-by-side providing compelling differences.

*

She was thankful for this tiny Florist that hugged the corner; its wares displayed across the small store front.

*

When home she glued in the photo of her son Ross, taken when he visited her at home for Mother’s Day.

His hair longer now.

Ever present bright compassionate eyes still wide eyed with wonder.

Wearing a beanie. Crocheted by his girlfriend in bright red yarn.

It complimented his sensual plump red lips.

*

When he left he enveloped her with a warm and loving embrace. Lifting her long hair to touch the tattoo on the back of her neck.

‘I rembember when this was your Mother’s Day gift to me Pauline,’ his eyes shining bright.

In a cursive script her tattoo declared her adoration for her son.

It expressed her sentiments when she was at times lost for words to describe her rapture.

Her deep and abiding love for her son, and never-ending gratitude for his strength, wisdom and support.

*

Before she retired for bed, sitting at her desk. She opened her new journal.

Her new journal with the cover a wrap-around design made of soft tan leather, sensuous to the touch. Secured with twisted twine of orange, brown and beige cotton thread.

The paper with embedded with leaf fragments.

Reflective of a quiet autumnal design.

And as innately known in the cavernous Newsagent when she experienced a jolted halt of mind and soul.

Confirming with this search for her new journal that the first words would be.

She wrote in a red cursive script her tattoo that had been her gift to her son for a Mother’s Day long ago when he was 9 years of age:

• Ross ~ Big love •

Her next writing journey had begun.

*

Her journal now well-worn and completed.

Pauline Fountain. © 2023. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced without the written permission of the author.