The higher we reach to the stars, the deeper our roots must burrow into the soil. - L.M. Montgomery
I actually got a little sunburned, working in my garden today. I planted white primula, stock, alyssum, and some pretty frilly pink flowers whose name I don't know. My house is a cottage, and so I keep my garden gentle and old-fashioned. I also hung a jar of flowers on my front door, inspired by Denise Andrade-Kroon, whose soul is as beautiful as a wildflower. I seldom actually use the front door, but that little jar is less a welcome than a blessing from our house to the world beyond.
Cycling to the plant store, I had to stop twice to revel in unexpected flowers along the way. Tiny long-stemmed ones that surely were cousins to the violet, growing in grass along the footpath. Velvety white ones on a small tree, their lush white petals curving around each other as if suspended in a wild moment of a dance. The blossom I found last week has all shed away, so I feel its beauty even more now, since I was able to see it in the brief moment of its existence. Daisies speckle a few lawns and abundant floral vines overflow one or two garden walls.
If I lived in a more romantic neighbourhood I would spend all the mornings of this month walking, gazing at gardens. It's probably just as well few people here care for flowers.
Cycling home again, I found myself saying good morning to several people along the way, despite my usual shyness. This is what happens when you spend time with flowers. They brighten your heart and lend you their magic.
(At instagram I am posting a flower a day for September.)