Rick's Lilies of the Valley come up before mine. There is a different quality of light in his yard. I broadly hinted how nice it would be if he would pick me a bouquet of lilies and surprise me. I did this multiple times. I'm glad I have my own lilies!
This is actually about the time they always used to emerge. When I would go to the cemetery on Memorial Day to plant flowers on my family's graves, I would also pick a few wild Lilies of the Valley from the slope behind their burial spot and place them on my parents', aunts' and uncles' headstones. For a few years that hasn't worked out -- spring was early and by then the lilies were gone.
Tonight (which is last week by the time you are reading this!) I picked a lovely bouquet. As I did, I thought of Vagabonde, whose post about these short-lived gems is HERE and well worth a read. Her photos are lovely, she weaves a magical story and uses wonderful vintage graphics to cap it off. She also reveals how this is a May Day tradition in France, her native country. OK, a month late. C'est la vie!
The act of doing so reminded me of one of the reasons I love blogging. By reading all of your posts -- so varied in style and content -- I learn so very much.
I learn about flowers and decorating and antiquing. I learn about books and about art. I learn about families and love. I get a little history here and there, read some wonderful poetry and learn about all sorts of exotics places -- some of which I would love to visit and some to which I long to return.
Most of all, I get to know you. I get to know what makes you happy or sad. I experience your highs and lows and we share a multitude of feelings. You have often been there for me, and I do my best to be there for you.
So, to you I give a bouquet of Lily of the Valley. They will not last long; their sweet fragrance will fade. But I will eagerly await their return next spring as I spend this year with you.
(NOTE: Now at Chopsticks and String, an artful look at Paris in a wee, delightful book!)
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