“During the Victorian era the language of flowers was as important to people as being “well dressed.” For example, the recognizable scent of a particular flower, plant or perhaps a scented handkerchief sent its own unique message.

Flowers adorned almost everything… hair, clothing, jewelry, gowns, men’s lapels, home décor and china, and stationery, to name a few… Flowers would convey messages of love or dislike depending upon which ones were given, their sizes how they were held, or also grouped together. They had a silent meaning of their very own, and could “say” what was not dared to be spoken. Even the manner in which flowers were sent had a special meaning… “(read full article here)

Flowers are the language of the soul – at least of my soul.

Over the past several weeks I’ve been staying at my mom’s in upstate NY. I love sitting in the breeze way – working – writing my book. I love it because of the flowers that surround me. I spent my life working in my parents greenhouses. I grew up around dark purples, bright reds and fuchsia pink geraniums. I didn’t know it then but my cellular DNA was being wired to breath better when among such bIMG_7531eauty.

A few weeks ago Steve and I went to Portsmouth New Hampshire – what I loved most was the landscaping. Every house was lavished with hydrangeas, holly hocks, and green and white hostas. The flowers and shrubs looked wild – so unlike the well manicured lawns in Dallas. Again I felt my soul breath lighter. I was meant to be where flowers, trees, shrubs grow wild, untrimmed, flopping over one another like they are dancing and laughing in the sun.

Sometimes when I have been away from the beauty of it I forget how much it makes me come alive. Flowers, trees and shrubs are my souls language – beauty in the breeze way, sacredness in the dirt, creativity bursting, it speaks to me.

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I’m so grateful for the view in mom’s breezeway.