These asters were a Thursday morning indulgent purchase from Sobeys. I always suspect that the cashiers and other various employees at high-end supermarkets can sense that I am a fraud, that I am much more accustomed to purchasing milk and eggs from a bargain grocer. The wide-eyed near swoon over the store's cleanliness, the guilt in my eyes as I watch someone else bag my groceries, the barely contained wince at the prices as they pop up on the register screen - all of these betray me. I can hardly help myself on even my best days. As my eyes go to the Bottega Veneta flapper dress in Vogue, so do they have little trouble smiling on the autumnal displays and sparkling rows of fresh produce at Sobeys. Chrysanthemums, gourds, haystacks. I won't weep over the dying garden if fall will linger a while!
Asters make me think of Walter Bishop. Aster, Astrid.
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