The walk to
Grace's (Harold and Luigi always accompany) to pick out our bouquets. . .hand trimming the stems, arranging the flowers, choosing the right vases. . . I love the process as much as the presence of fresh flowers in a home. Flowers are reminders amidst objects of permanence of fragility and tenderness and endings; of poetry and beauty, of celebrations and apologies, of arrivals. . . and departures.
As petals fall and stems begin to wilt, I seek the survivor and place her in a single, bud vase - a vintage perfume bottle I found at a flea market.
She's even more beautiful alone.
For he that dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.
Anne Brontë
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