“With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen pictures and some books, I live without envy.”
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
No matter how humble the abode - and if ever a house deserved the distinction it's ours - nothing transforms it like a hand-picked bouquet.
Everything is in bloom now, so today the children and I pulled some honeysuckle from the the fence, stuffed it into a tall metal pail and inserted Gerber daisies, passion flowers, columbine and petunias.
I cleared our antique pine farm table - weathered and pitted from generations of use - of my sewing machines and placed the bouquet in the middle. They flowers look even brighter indoors, and ironically even more alive even as they begin to die. We stood back, silent, and admired the view of steadfast pine topped with the temporary spring crown.
A fleeting moment in time. But perfect. Just perfect.
It turns out that some of us are more reverent than others. Tonight, while waiting for dinner, Lucas decided that the honeysuckles contained real honey, so he raided the bouquet and ate a few.
I found him intently picking through the honeysuckle blossoms - biting them in half and discarding the remains on the table.