Under the arch.

We did not plan to be the place with the arch. The first year, we built a small awning out of dahlia stems and chicken wire because the storefront felt too plain. By the second year, neighbors were stopping their cars.

The frame is welded steel — the same one we've reused for nine years. What changes is the flowers, the time of year, and what the season is asking for. In April it's hydrangea and ranunculus. In June it's peony and rose. In autumn it's amaranthus and dahlia in shades that match the leaves.

Every year someone asks if we'd consider making it permanent — silk, dried, preserved. We always say no. The point of the arch is that it's alive. It wilts by Sunday. It comes down by mid-summer. It is the loudest love letter we know how to write to the neighborhood, and you can only write that letter if you mean it for one season at a time.