And Flowers On The Table

Where we are ourselves, known and loved, and living for all of it

With the first yellow burst of tansy’s button blooms, I remembered another time (could it have really been eleven years?), taking a gathering basket down to the riverbank, snipping a heap of these happy little flowers, and carrying them home on the crook of my arm. Remembered taking a footed milk glass vase fitted with a crumple of chicken wire inside, then heaping into it a cheery ball of yellow sunshine. So fitting for August’s table.

I was inspired to do it again.

Same flower, same vase, same table.