“Oh, my!” she smiled as she gently touched the ruffled feathers of the plant. “An orchid! They are so ornate!”
“I thought you might like it, Grandma.” Ellen smiled as her grandmother touched the petals as if they were made of the finest gold.”
“For our first anniversary, your grandfather bought me an orchid. It had white petals with delicate curves of violet at their edge. He remembered how I had loved orchids my entire life.” She sighed.
Her eyes closed, a smile on her face. Ninety seven years old, her mind still sharp. She was the definition of ornate.