the cherry tree by gwarf
Outside my childhood bedroom there grew a lilac bush. Hundreds of tiny purple flowers on each branch from which comes the most intoxicating scent my nose has ever encountered. They come and fade too quickly, but they always come back again. Above is not a picture of lilacs, not in the least but I don't have a picture of lilacs...
Moose Jaw is covered in lilacs, at least in my corner of Moose Jaw. And it occurred to me today as I was dazzled by all the purple and white, that Lilacs are indeed my favourite flower. When the question of what one's favourite flower is comes around somehow my mind searches through what would be found on the shelves of a florist shop rather than spanning the selection that nature holds. Perhaps because when we think of favourite flowers we think of it in terms of what we would like someone to buy for us. I looked to what man has tamed and mass produced rather than to all that God has created. Then again perhaps attempting to narrow one specific choice from all the variety is equally ill-focused rather than enjoying all flowers.
I still like Lilacs a lot
(but I wouldn't be disappointed if I was given a dozen roses, or oriental lilies, or calla lilies, or daisies... so I wouldn't be disappointed if I was given flowers, although I might be slightly bewildered if I was given a bunch of thistles.)
To answer a few questions that I've been asked. I'm working at Smitty's, and ... well I forgot the rest of the questions I was asked. Anyhow. I'm going home to sew myself a new shirt. I'll have something to feast your minds upon soon, I promise.
