When alex and I visited france a few months ago I managed to capture up the fragrant displays of a few beautiful little florists in the centre of paris.
And those bright blooms,
they sang straight to my soul,
they sang straight to the 10-year-old me
who was determined to be a florist
and open her own little shop one day.
I remember clearly doing a school presentation on flowers and some brutish classmates started calling me "flowerpower" for the next two years. I was so embarrassed that I pretended I didn't want to be a florist anymore, even though my love for flowers and their names and their patterning stayed close to my heart. And have ever since. I still hope to have some kind of flowering business one day - maybe when Alex and I find a little farm in france to grow fields and fields of violets and poppies and lavender - and I'll trade them at the local marché for butter and artichokes, and my babies and I will roll in them.