Last weekend I had a lot of errands to run.
I stopped at a handful of grocery stores, to pick up a handful of items, and on my way home, I stopped at a florists' shop to buy myself a treat. I'd been sick all week and needed something to boost my spirits.
I looked at the ranunculus, snapdragons, tulips, some of the most beautiful (and expensive $54/dozen) roses I've ever seen, carnations, and eventually settled on a bunch of white daisies. I really wanted some of the other, more colorful flowers, but settled for simplicity...and durability.
While walking from cooler to cooler trying to make up my mind, I tried to figure out what I liked the best, what I'd want to see each morning and evening, each time I spent time in my living room, where the flowers would sit upon my tallest bookcase.
A week later, the flowers still look perfect, but they seemed a little lonely.
Thankfully, everything goes with a blank slate. Before heading home last night, I found a bouquet of 4" bright red gerberas. When I got home, I trimmed the daisies and arranged them with the gerberas in a vase that a friend's mother made, a tall, white ceramic vase with a rim of blue glaze and a smattering of green leaves here and there.
The flowers are not reflective of what I grown in my garden. They are too perfect, too bright. Outdoors, I prefer sunflowers picked over by the goldfinches the perch atop their buttery orbs, bee balm with their seemingly endless opening and closing miniscule flower heads, peonies overflowing with ants and whose edges are brown and crispy from exposure, irises of intense and washed out color that spread and blossom seemingly at random, daffodils with their ruffled tubes, day lilies with their orange and red triangular petals arriving and withering in quick succession, bleeding hearts with their dainty droplets falling along a thin stem towards the earth.
I'm ready to fast forward to spring and get those blooms abounding. I'd rather look at them outside, while I work in the yard.
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