Kitchen flowers are one of my favorite things. When I'm digging holes deep enough for rose roots in the March cold, covered in mud, I think of that. Of walking barefoot on May grass, filling a jar with flowers to bring inside.
These are all kitchen flowers from the past month or so. The roses have been so perfect this Spring, all voluptuous ballet-skirts and hopeful buds and magic perfume. The geums and Moroccan daisies and the burgundy ninebark I love are blooming and the foxgloves are about to reach their fairy-garden peak.
And I watch them outside, and bring them inside, and try not to blink.
