My flowerholism is alive and well, I'll tell you. Lured by small sandwich board signs on corners of busy Snohomish streets promising sweet farmstand flowers, I turned down a road I somehow haven't been down before that crosses the river. There they were for a mere $10, in a tiny wood stand operated on the honor system. The richest hues all bundled up for me to take back to my art studio, where thousands of perfectly muted, sun-bathed shades of green waited to compliment my delectable haul. It makes it difficult to peel away to return to real life, how much their beauty makes me forget my problems as I stare at the water flow lazily below. I always wonder if the flower farmers who truly love what they do look out at their fields and see the gold that I do. I suppose this is where someone would tell me the grass is always greener on the other side as I stare at my cleanly cut bouquet. But it's not green, it's rich dirt and all the enchanting colors that flowers will give you. I suppose we shall see the lengths my flower "problem" goes to within this lifetime.
