I brought home a centerpiece from the gala last night, and this morning, waiting for the espresso maker’s final belch and hiss of steam, I let my eyes go play over the flowers. It’s all in the red family, orchids, dahlias, ranunculus, tulips, cyclamen. The roses are velvet soft and matured and lushed open to the size of salad plates. There is a kind of recumbent lily I have never seen before, flushed with uppers, fiery red with a searing edge of yellow, the petals are peeled back like they are screaming speed itself. Combine that with a blissful full night’s sleep and a spine-bending latte, and this day is looking mighty promising.

Out of the subway you can feel the cold front moving in, the air whipping and cooling. I want to move down the sidewalk with a little dance in my step, eschew a fast plastic-wrapped croissant at Sammy’s for the fancy place, with the real, fresh pastry and an eye-popping coffee for later on. Waiting in line I eye flirt with a curly-headed little boy, who peek-a-boos me with his red fireman’s helmet. He coos, I dance, and I could do this all day if I didn’t have to beat the rain to my office. The girls behind the counter ring me up, and it’s time to go.