The sun shines splendidly down over the flower garden. It almost aches how beautiful the combination of sunlight and petals are together. The sunlight gilding the flowers and bringing out their bright, nuanced hues.
One step in front of the other until I reach the first section full of roses. There’s every shade and color, reds, pinks, and yellows, reflective of a sun soaked sky. I trail my fingers over a pale pink rose and think about the last time I drank strawberry milk, twelve years old and still carefree. The scent of roses reminding me of the taste of rose lattes and rose filled baths, a tub full of petals.
Next come the peonies, such beautiful, complicated flowers in hues of pink and white. Peonies always make me sad. They remind me of the peony festival in my youth and watching a girl cry when her peony was rejected by the boy that she had given her heart to and cared for over the last five years. Peonies remind me of youthful tears.
Now to the lilies, the calla lilies looking sweetly, sadly regal. The simple understated way that they stand in the sunlight reminds me of when I saw it among the bouquet gifted to a mistress, who would be kidnapped and tortured by the wife of the husband. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The red spider lilies beside the tiger lilies like sentinels, equipped with brighter colors and odd shapes, almost like weapons.
The camellias evoked a summer spent by the ocean, laughing as we raced across the sandy beach. Remembering the vibrant pink and red in a vase on the dining room table with the fine china tea set as we laughed into the night.
Cherry blossoms reminded me of the spring we spent chasing our next happiest moments.
Flower gardens are such bittersweet things.
