Why do you think flowers are found in the wild, sprinkled in meadows on mountain sides as if an expert gardener had flung them everywhere, to be borne far and wide on the wind, multiplied seeds of myriad varieties?
And why do we with such delight discover the fragile denizens of the forest, shyly sheltered in the shadows?
Why are flowers so strikingly beautiful, just extraordinarily exquisite, especially when they appear in pairs?
How is it that among flowers there is a pervading calmness so peaceful? What is it about being in the presence of flowers that is so relaxing, even medicinal?
Because that’s what flowers are for.
Flowers are not optional. They are in fact ‘health-ful.’ The quickest way to recovery – of anything you are suffering from – is to be among flowers.
We do not, after all, send the latest kitchen counter appliance to our loved one in the hospital. We send flowers. The former says ‘hope you get well soon, there’s work to be done when you get home!’ The latter says, ‘I sure love you; you mean so much to me, I miss you more than you can imagine.’
Flowers say that.
Flowers decorate the room, let alone the soul.
Flowers brighten the face, bring a smile, recall a love.
We can no more live this life without flowers, than a woman can live without the love of the one who wraps his arms around her even as a ribbon wraps round a bouquet.
“If I get one more bouquet from him, my living room will be a forest,” one reader responded recently to what has become a series of flower stories and pictures of mine.
And so sadly wrote another, “he no longer gives me flowers.”
It’s Mother’s Day. The day after that will be ‘just-because’ day. Both days, all days, are the right days for flowers.
As long as you’re anyway going to be filthy poor, and yet you want your love life to be fantastically rich, there’s one sure way to realize both.
With flowers.
