Tofuwachtel

Old, yes, she was. You could tell she had lived.

A face that had been marked by the years. A face that told stories.
That radiated joy and also a slight melancholy. And which had become more and more interesting over the years. A beautiful face. One that you wouldn't soon forget.

Her eyes still wide awake and full of life.

She had been standing here at the flower market for over 60 years. Even her grandmother had run this stall.

Modern or trendy? No, she wasn't. She had her very own style and didn't follow any trends. She knew what she wanted and what she didn't want. It had always been that way and it suited her perfectly.

Sure, there had been more customers at her stand in the past. Today, those who liked her classic bouquets came. Regular customers who still liked her signature style and had remained loyal to her for decades. But also many a new face.

She reached for the carnations. One of her favorite flowers. They would dominate the bouquet she was about to tie. She arranged a few dark roses with velvety blossoms and the occasional thorn among their dark green leaves. The fragrance was already wonderfully aromatic with a wonderfully subtle spice.

To break things up, she arranged a few stems of small white flowers in between. And a few small lilies of the valley. They played around the main protagonists of the bouquet, skillfully placing them in the center. The carnation in particular benefited from this.

Anyone watching her at work might think that she had a somewhat harsh, perhaps even stern look about her mouth. But anyone who spoke to her realized how warm-hearted she was. And then sometimes her violet-blue eyes would flash briefly.

She wrapped the stems of the bouquet in beige ribbon and placed it on the small, old wooden counter.

When she looked up, the customer was already there. She picked up this very bouquet every week. She paid, inhaled the scent of the bouquet deeply and smiled.

When the day
Replaces the night

And soft dew lies
Over young grass

Spicy fine clouds
Lay themselves over blossoms

Softly the leaves
Softly glistening

Delicate buds cool
Swaying in the wind

Rose petals fall velvety
In soft green moss

Wood in the light
Shimmers like silk

Then quietly awakens
Life

Barely noticeable
Delicately tart green accents
Let them shimmer
Give their light

Fruity, sweet and plump
It turns in circles
With many velvety bright
Spicy soft blossoms

Powders itself
Gossamer-fine with cinnamon
Carries the enamel
Very delicate herbs

Lets itself be carried
Of silky wood
And caresses
Of soft earth

Warm, soft and flowing
Like a fine
Silky shimmering powdery
Velvet scarf

She is the
Delicious of Charneux
And she knows exactly
About her magic

Green mist
Circling slowly
From here to there
Where the sky
Touches the earth

Soaps dense
And yet so light
Tart and cool
And yet so close

Eyes of spice
And fine herbs
Seeing buds
And blossoms
Turning in the green
In the kaleidoscope
Of life

Gently shimmering slopes
Flowing into the valley
Have in the river
Soft velvety wood
And warm crumbs

Melt together
In the silky soft
Green moss
Softly sung
From tender paws

Soap in a constant fog
Like a fine net
It weaves through the green

As bright as fresh grass
As soft as delicate moss
As spicy as young herbs

Lies between the blossoms
Takes away their nectar sweetness
Makes the buds dance

They hum to the same beat
Smile with austere grace
Breathe green life

Quiet being in silky wood
Earth crumbs and soft resin
All united in the mild green river