The Art of Tiny Buttons - A Collector’s Reflection

On holiday, somewhere after the coach with Nan, and in our seeking of winter gardens, museums and tea rooms, most of the world was buttons, brown, seemingly shoebox-like, meticulously perfected, ordered trays of buttons.
The other art shop rooms were homes to ribbons, sewing trims, coloured threads, and patterns. And it was beautiful to us, an artwork to me, a scrapbook of a tourist attraction.
It was as if I were the leading artist, now knowing exactly what each button could someday be called all together to become.
The buttons were coral pink or shell-coloured, poster paint and powdery-coloured, puzzle-piece shaped, fairy-tale character, storytelling bold.
Pearl flakes, a striped green from a suit, black and white, and differing-size dots. Brass music horns, sleek metallic swirls, clear and green crystal-beaded leaves of palm trees, cupcake-shaped buttons and teapot ones serving what is neat.
Buttons that will be mismatched and out of line, a jelly bean-shaped novelty, a bright sun-shaped button beside them.
The positives of possibility kept amazing me: buttons that kept me warm, wooden like toggle pegs on scarves, chocolate-coin-sized winter coat buttons, snowflake, teardrop, button jewellery like charms.
One button, at first, bought for my bag. A button in my pocket. A button loose on my pinstriped shirt sleeve. A button as a souvenir. An expensive button for my button jar. A button for all art ideas. A button for my poem’s words.
A unicorn button, differently designed, its threadwork detailed in soft, never-tangled hues.
No button in my basket today, only the quiet wonder of a day trip, brief and fleeting. 'Ready to go?' the day trip tour guide said, their cheery voice stitching my memory closed with glittering red, tinselled thread.