This morning I braved the drizzling cloudy skies and lack of cabs to the flower district on the west side. I ran along the street looking for the perfect blooms—I was not searching for orchids nor was I looking for baskets, florist’s tape, or twine. Just as the thick grey sky starting to give way to the dense droplets that hung above, I ducked into one of the shops along the street.
The floor was wet with strewn petals and branches, twigs and leaves—and all around were these blooms in all kinds of candy box colors. Bushes of lilac were stacked in the front, with tight bouquets of roses in fifteen colors along the wall. There were peonies just ready to burst with fluffy petals alongside pink and light periwinkle hyacinth and freesia.
I loaded up on deep purple hyacinth, tea party pink peonies, and blushing mauve ranunculus, and left the shop with a brown paper wrapped bushel of loveliness.
I'm so looking forward to tomorrow night.
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