The Language of Flowers

Queen Anne's Lace

The sky was blue, the air was crisp and clear. Huge mountains towered over me, sharp pointed and snow topped. I had just gotten out of the car, and I toddled toward a bed that had been planted with a wildflower mix. My mom pointed to one, a white circle as big as my face, made up of innumerable tiny white petals. "There's a carrot under there," she said. I stared at it in suspicion and disbelief. She grasped the stem near the ground and pulled. Lo, a carrot! I carried it around for the rest of the day, marveling.

Dandelion

I picked a handful of blooming weeds and carried them inside to my grandma. She accepted them less graciously than I wanted, busy perhaps with making lunch for everyone or cleaning up a mess someone else had made. Later, I was told, we would go visit my great grandparents. I knew Granddad was sick, as much as a three year old can understand cancer. I went back outside. Carefully this time, I made sure to pick the flowers close to the ground. I asked permission to pluck a couple of grape hyacinths. I found a long strand of onion grass and asked my mom to tie everything together nicely. When we got to their house, he was laying on the couch, right at my level. I presented my gift. He cupped my little hands in his work-worn ones and looked me in the eyes. Thank you. They're beautiful.

Bluebonnet

Justin caught up to me in the hall, rubbing his knuckles firmly against the top of my head. I squirmed loose and glared at him. "What is wrong with you?!" He looked abashed. "That's what my brothers do to me, to show they like me." I planted my hands on my hips. "Well, it hurt. If you want to show a girl you like her, bring her flowers or something." He found me again at recess, one hand behind his back. He smiled as he showed me what he had found - somehow, a single Texas bluebonnet had survived on that trampled grade school playground. He offered it, I accepted with thanks.

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