The lady who leaves the flowers

The lady who leaves the flowers

I visit the local cafe most days. Every so often, there are groups of flowers on the tables.

It brings the whole place alive. What’s usually a group of brown wooden tables gets a splash of colour, fragrance, nature.

One day I was sitting, writing, sipping, likely drawing subconscious inspiration from admiring the flowers. A lady on another table asked, “What are you writing?”

“A bit of everything,” I said, “journaling, a story, an article, whatever comes out of my mind.”

“Well that’s nice, I’ve seen you here a few times before.”

“This is one of my home offices,” I smiled, “I love it here, just look at these flowers!”

The lady who was speaking pointed to the lady opposite her.

“That’s her.”


“She’s the one who leaves the flowers here every morning.”

The other lady turned around, didn’t say anything, she was shy but smiled. I kept talking.

“They look beautiful!”

“Thank you, I go for walks in the morning and pick them up on the way.”

I went back to writing. Started thinking. This whole time, I’d thought it was one of the staff from the cafe. Trying to make the place look nicer than it already did.

But it wasn’t.

It was the lady sitting across from me. I’d probably seen her dozens of times before.

I can’t imagine how many people have seen the flowers and thought, “well, doesn’t that look nice.”

Small acts of kindness don’t have the potential to yield large returns. You’d be surprised how much colour and beauty a thoughtful practice can bring to others.

But of course, that’s not what she’s going for. From her reaction when I met her, she’d be more than happy without anyone knowing it was her. I told her I’d keep it a secret.

I’m at the cafe again this morning. And so are the flowers. They’ve made my day.