Until recently, I never really appreciated the simple pleasure of having flowers in the house. My mom is more of a plant-person than a bouquet-person. This is for practical reasons, of course – bouquets will wither die, but my mom can coax even the driest of twigs into bloom. I think she also loves the act of caring for plants, and watching them grow. She is a gardening goddess, queen of the green thumbs!
I didn’t inherit her talent for gardening, but I can absolutely appreciate the beauty of a lovingly-picked bouquet. I want to start investing in fresh blooms more often because they make me instantly happy when I look at them, and they smell SO good. Azim’s bouquet on Valentine’s Day had a garden rose in it, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a scent more divine.
Flowers are also very meaningful. I know a lot of care goes into wedding bouquets for this reason. Baby’s breath for innocence, amaranths for immortal love, dahlias for elegance and dignity. I love this symbolism, the gorgeous language of flowers.
Flowers seem to be following me, even in the books I’ve been reading! I mentioned that I had just finished Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier – a story filled with wild blooms. The narrator associates different parts of Manderley with different flowers, and it makes for very vivid imagery. I don’t think I’ll ever look at rhododendrons the same way again…
Flowers… are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1844