One of the greatest joys of playing and experimenting with flowers is that it opens your eyes to the flowers and foliage that are growing around you. The ones that are already there, doing their things, that you didn’t have to buy or water or prune. You start to notice them. Like words you’ve just learned the meaning of (nadir, ostensible and shamefully parabola - I never quite got that one at school) you start, as if by magic, to see them everywhere.
The more you think about flowers on the home front, the more you start to see the outside world through a kind of flower filter. You pay attention to what nature is doing around you. and to even beyond the natural world: Old rusty buckets morph from being junk destined for the tip into the perfect vessel to hold the mass of jasmine hanging over Mr Smith’s fence that you will pinch in the dead of night.
There are writers that say one of the greatest, unexpected consequences of writing is that you become a better reader. Just as, I would say, playing and working with flowers can help you become a better observer of the natural world.
And anything that helps you focus on what is beautiful and interesting in your daily life, when so much can feel repetitive and mundane and ordinary, is worthy of celebration. Reverence even.
So if, like me, there is a terse and rather annoying voice in your head that often yells ‘put down the flowers and do something useful with your life’, respond with a kind but firm ‘thank you for sharing’ and continue to remove the thorns from your rose stem, knowing you are onto a good thing; a practice that can bring meaning and beauty and cause for celebration to your everyday life.
And come on, just look at these red and pink roses here together, and the huge bundle of roadside fennel which has filled the whole house with its aniseed scent. What more, if anything at all, needs to be said?