The Night the Florist Found the Last Wreath at the Oakdale Greenhouse

It was the week before Christmas, 2003, in the town of Oakdale, Arkansas. Luna's aunt ran a small greenhouse on the edge of town, and it was the year the poinsettias arrived with their petals already curling, the year the wreaths smelled of rot beneath the pine. When an old woman came in at closing time to order a wreath for a grave that didn't exist, Luna's aunt kept the greenhouse open one more hour. By the time the woman left, the frost had etched faces into the glass. A quiet story about grief, memory, and the things we leave for the dead.

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