beauty and truth

When I was a young, first-time mother, I became acquainted with a woman who was newly divorced, having left not only her husband but an extremely affluent lifestyle. People shook their heads with no small amount of envy, believing she had turned her back on a marriage that provided her comfort and prestige. She moved away from the gaze of a small-town with her two young children. Choosing, instead, the anonymity of a city that allowed her to weather her divorce fall-out privately. I had not known the wealth that she described, but it was clear to me that when she spoke of it, it was without attachment, as though a burden had been lifted. She had no longing for the material goods that defined her marriage; nearly everything was left to her husband.

Longing aside, she couldn’t any longer afford the luxuries that were once so easily acquired. But the small comfort that she indulged in, weekly and without fail, was fresh-cut flowers. I’ve never forgotten the smile that softened her ordinarily tense face as she told me this with a mixture of passion and pleading. This small act was a life line for her. Something that anchored her to renewal and the necessity of caring for her heart. I could not have known then that two years later I would be living in a farmhouse near the town she had left far behind. Or that I would fall wildly in love with each garden I dug. But what I did understand with certainty, was how a tiny clutch of flowers could tether a person to hope and infuse beauty into a room that needed no greater luxury.

bliss

old-roses

mrs-dalloway

fountain-pen

antique-rose-bouquet

pink-antique-roses

mrs.-dalloway-said-she-would-buy-the-flowers-herself

rose-petals

antique-rose-bush

photos by: bliss {in images}

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