The Perfect Flower

     While he was pouring me coffee this morning, Lord Foster, my uncle, has asked me out of the blue: "Which is your favorite flower? Which one makes your heart melt and lets you dream of, princess?"

As I knew that my birthday is coming soon, I gave him the most convenient answer one could hope for:

"I don't know, milord, I love them all equally!" I said, while taking another sip from my coffee cup. 

        The air of the morning was crisp and fresh. One could hear the blackbirds’ song coming from the big oak my great grandfather has planted in front of the palace. The sky was crystal clear and no cloud whatsoever was in sight. It looked like we were about to have another beautiful day ahead of us. A mild breeze coming from our garden has brought an almost intoxicating smell of lilac and magnolia.

          “What if there were to be a perfect flower?” I asked myself, delighted with the smells surrounding me. Where else to seek perfection for if not in a flower? What would this flower look like? How about its smell? Should it be sweet, exotic? Should it be a majestic rose with velvety petals of crimson red? Maybe a tall magenta iris? And then I realized that in order for it to be perfect I have to build it by myself, taking the parts I love the most in all the beautiful flowers I can think of.

          In my head pictures of different flowers started to appear. They’ve emerged, out of nowhere, presenting themselves to me while spinning and spreading their most delicate perfume, as if they all wanted to be part of my experiment. They were all bloomed; some still had their part of buds on, which I found even more thrilling, for when I see a bud, I start imagining how it will look like when bloomed.

           The rows of tulips in my garden almost make me cry each year. They’re colorful, alive and wiggling their heads whenever I pass them by. They seem happy to see me and they all salute, like young children on a Sunday afternoon. The smell of freshly cut hyacinths  and mayflowers mixed with wild yellow peonies caresses my soul every spring, making me forget about the long winter which finally has passed.

       In summer I love the frailty of the red poppy flowers scattered around the cereal fields and all the other colorful wild ones, blooming on the green meadows. The water lilies on our pond seem magical. They follow the sun on the sky and as soon as the he goes to bed, they close their petals and fall asleep enchanted by the rays of our lady, the moon. They’re somehow pinkish, yet not white, but delicate and soft, floating away like gondolas in sunset on the narrow channels of Venice. My chrysanthemums when they’re bloomed; they are so brave and tall! Both white and purple colored; they are the pillars of the gate, defending the entrance to my garden from all the mean intentions. Deep anchored in my thoughts, I raise my eyes and see the endless fields of lavender, stretching all the way to the end of the horizon. “Oh my, there’s even more than this! How can I ever tell? It is so hard to chose, one cannot simply do it!” I said to myself both worried and relieved.

        Because all those who love the flowers know that once you love a flower, you slowly love them all. Your garden grows and grows; there is no end to it. As long as your heart is open and your soul is blessed with love, you’ll find perfection in every flower you encounter.

        “The perfect flower is not one, but all of them!” I thought to myself on this peaceful morning on the terrace. I felt happy and my soul was at ease knowing that I see perfection all around me. I have so many flowers in my garden!