Lucy knew her flowers. As a florist, it was pretty important. She knew which blooms were in season when, which lasted longest in displays, which blended with others in a bouquet and which were the vibrant stars.
More than that, Lucy knew where her flowers came from. Not necessarily came from immediately, as most were grown locally in large greenhouses. Lucy knew her flowers’ native countries and she loved to show this off in her florist shop in the way she arranged the buckets of blooms.
Chrysanthemums with their blowsy petals, tulips of all colours – these flowers faced east.
Lilies – real ones, like the bunched bells of lily of the valley, faced north.
South facing were orchids.
And west? Here Lucy placed her carnations, pinks, roses and all her beloved native blooms.
It was Lucy’s happy little secret to do this. None of the customers noticed. At least, not until the day a tall, dark stranger walked into the shop seeking flowers for his rich, dying grandmother. Another blooms’ specialist, he complimented Lucy on her clever arrangements.
When they married, Lucy’s colourful bouquet included chrysanthemums, lily of the valley, orchids and roses. A truly global posy.
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Excitement for the little daisy was palpable. The morning sun shone brightly on the meadow and all the flowers faced east to pay it homage.
The little daisy felt her heart miss a beat. This was the best time of the day. The time when incessant chatter bonded the group as its members discussed their busy schedule.
First, there was homage followed by the art of pedal spreading to soak up the warm rays.
Then there was swooshing and swaying as the wind performed its tricks and the flowers danced in response.
The little daisy always looked forward to this early time of the day. It made her feel warm, comfortable, relaxed as a familiar euphoric state overpowered her senses.
A euphoric state from which she could only be shaken by the sound of thundering hooves vibrating the ground around her.
As she basked, the little daisy was once more torn from her reverie amid this violent intrusion.
This time it was a rampaging bull – frustrated by the fact that he could not have his way with the female herd.
“Lord,” thought the little daisy. “He’s getting closer, feels like he is right on top of me. Don’t tell me my time is nigh.”
All sound, all reason was drowned out under the cacophony of hooves.
The little daisy cowered, petals drawn close to its stem – the smallest possible target.
Thundering hooves receded into the distance, and once more, with a sigh of relief, all the flowers faced east.
Love the little daisy’s busy day – quite whimsical
What a wonderful, flowery tale. You obviously know your blooms – not like me!! Lucy’s eternal wish is that I would take more interest in the garden but I figure as long as it is neat and tidy and the lawns mowed, that indeed is sufficient.
I had to look them up of course!