The time is perhaps 1950. These ladies are chaperones at the 8th grade dance.
They are seated in folding chairs by the gymnasium wall, talking quietly. They are dressed in their summer organdy and voile dresses for coolness against the warmth of the evening. The girls and boys noses as they are walking by the chaperones, catch the faintest fragrance tendrils of bath powder..that magical fairy dust that resides in round boxes complete with fluffy puff. The stuff dreams are made from. The fragrance that goes to church on Sunday morning and goes to chaperone dances for boys and girls on Prom night.
The older ladies here are content with fading into the background--memories of their dances long ago, intact.
These flowers are the ladies in my story. Aren't they sweet?