Flos, or the best part of something

When I got married in September, I wanted to have white peonies, and I learned that September was not peony season.

While I know a little about the seasons of fruits and vegetables, cheeses too, I realized that I was a quiche from Nice, not from Lorraine, in the seasonality of flowers. Because these delicate productions, often fragrant, these seed plants that carry the reproductive organs are much richer than they seem and offer us a field of expression of possibilities much more romantic and complex than the only true love associated with the Red Rose.

So I got caught up in the game of offering you a light little fable, a free way to compose a floral tale that unravels in the sandstone of the petals.

So this is the story of Chèvrefeuille, faithful and loyal, who sees her budding love for the wild rose blossom, for Camélia, whose ideal beauty has no equal. He then adorns himself with torrid desire and fervor, with fuchsia, and dreams, in poppy, of being able to bring good luck in clover to his beloved the flower.

The beautiful Camélia, doesn't care, and gets angry with petunia, thus expressing his nettle cruelty, and his narcissus selfishness. Immersed in disdain, contempt and suffering the martyrdom of gentian, he presents a ring as a sign of acceptance and submission. Chèvrefeuille will not become the melancholic soul of jonquille and then expresses himself by quoting Saint-François de Salle, “Nothing by force, everything by love”.

Faced with this constancy in her love of wallflower, Camélia asks for forgiveness, adorned with her white tulips, and obtains compensation thanks to sarsaparilla. Leaving behind them the instability of the sweet pea, Camélia and Chèvrefeuille then celebrate the irises to announce the good news of a future festive event: their upcoming wedding embodied by the white hellebore. Finally covered with olive trees and their peaceful wisdom, Camélia and Chèvrefeuille then lie down in the pink roses and their promises of happiness and tenderness.

You too, apprentice gardeners, learn flowers and recount without counting, the wonders of smells to honor the chosen one of your heart.