Back in the old days, I hypothesise, a gentleman would stroll into the countryside and pick a bouquet by hand. Each flower (I imagine) would carry a beauty or a scent which reminded him of his sweetheart. Wrapped up in that glorious bunch of wild posies was everything he thought about her, as well as his time and his thoughtfulness, his effort and imagination. As he skipped romantically through the meadow, he cared not how he looked, or what other men might say, but only for the lady he loved.
These days, supermarkets and florists have done all of that for us. I must admit though, I did still have to find a bunch that I knew my Mum would like. She loves lots of colour and big flower-heads, so even though the selections were all neatly arranged for me (and not out in the wild) I knew what I was looking for.
To be honest, I don't know whether I could do enough for my Mum, especially given that we all felt we nearly lost her at Christmas. A bunch of flowers seems such a small and worthless token compared to all that she really means - and especially to a guy like me, who doesn't particularly understand them as a gift anyway. But that's the thing about mums (and dads while we're at it) isn't it? You can't ever pay them back for everything they've done; you can only pay it forward and promise to do the same for your own children when the time comes.
In the meantime, if there's any way to fill someone's life with colour, to be the fragrance of love in the midst of a dreary world, or to tie it all together with a token of how much they mean to you, then we should definitely do it. Even if we don't fully understand the power of flowers.
No comments:
Post a Comment