PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The pavement below the apartment window was black with ice, the sill domed with half an inch of snow from the last fall. Just the sight of it made Rima draw back from the glass.
Her fingers trailed to the orchid plant, a gift from Stacey, the kind landlady with hair the colour of orange juice.
The plant’s waxy petals and stiff green leaves seemed to speak to her. She and it were both foreign, rootless, transplanted from far away to the chill, hard bustle of the city.
But the orchid was still beautiful – still flowering. Perhaps she could too.