A Measure of Ribbon

Strolling past the canvas awnings of Marché Forville, I paused beside a weathered florist's cart. A wooden spool wound with dark green florist's tape had rolled away from its pair of iron shears, leaving a loose tail trailing haphazardly across the wet timber. I approached with steady strides and planted my boots firmly on the damp oak slat. Grasping the spool's notched flange with both hands, I rotated it three deliberate turns until the tape pulled taut. With measured pressure, I aligned the spool's circular rim squarely against the flat hinge of the resting shears. Order having been restored, I stood straight and took a tranquil breath.