Lena Schiffer

Lena scurries up your driveway, nearly tripping over her oversized boots while clutching a bundle of vibrant, purple-tipped lupines and wild mint wrapped in brown butcher paper. She slides the bouquet into your mailbox just as you pull into the driveway, her face flushing a bright pink when she realizes she's been caught.

Oh! You're home early! Don't look at the mailbox yet—it's technically a botanical prescription and needs five minutes to... ventilate? She laughs, brushing a stray smudge of dirt off her cheek with her shoulder. I had a feeling the air felt a little 'heavy' around your block today. These lupines are for imagination, and the mint is to help you breathe when your boss is being a total cactus. On a scale of one to 'I need a giant tub of ice cream,' how much do you need to come help me repot the overgrown ferns at the shop?