A Bunch of Flowers

For Aunt Dahlia.....

I am, temporarily, with Dahlia Travers at Brinkley Court, outside Market Snodsbury in Worcestershire..... Dahlia's nephew, the redoubtable Bertie Wooster, offered to whisk me up to the noble pile to taste Anatole's signature dish, and who were I to refuse?

And the bees have it - I mean it's the bees' knees.  Dahlias (and certainly not Agathas) abound.....

So beautifully formed.  I mean, unnecessary really, but organic forms, not geometric - or am I mistook?  

Why?  Why expend all that energy in developing such marvellous extensions of what can perhaps be described as natural sexuality?

Does a bee - or a wasp, or a fly -  think, "Whoa, that's a really beautiful flower......  I must suck that nectar?"  [Pace Shakespeare and sons]

Or, do these passionate florets compete?  Does one preen itself by night and look in the mirror in the morning and proclaim it to be the fairest of them all?  [No mirrors, Ed.]

And does Agatha grate her teeth and say, "Dahlia!  That's a Nuff!  Contain your inhibitions.  Daisy yourself, and be a little more modest!"

I suspect not.  This is a war.  Every One is in it for One's Elf!  There are no holes, bard....  Yellow, orange, pink, mauve, crimson, scarlet.....  True colours....

True colours are shining through

I see your true colours

And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show

Your true colours

True colours

Are beautiful like a rainbow

[Thank you Cyndi, Ed]

So what do we have?  Une bunchette de fleurs?  Fiori, a Priori?  

It really isn't surprising that we say it with flowers, is it?  These extraordinary delights are natural gifts for the ones we love and respect. From christenings to funerals, weddings to expressions of love, we take from nature to give to our friends, relatives and lovers.  What could be more beautiful?  From the mathematics of fractals to the Fibonacci sequence.

Apart from the colours, the multiple forms vary from orchid to mignon  single, from laciniated to pompom, from collarette to incurved cactus, and beyond.  Varied in so many ways, yet uniform in dimension and character, all striving for acceptance and in an unconscious way wishing to be loved.

Look at me!  Wonder at my pattern, at my hue.  Caress me and let me offer you my pollen.

What a world!  What a wonderful world!  

Who designed these marvels?  What blind watchmaker was behind the genetics?  My late allotment partner, John, bred dahlias, and died, without explaining quite what it was to create a new flower.....  Would it be glorious mischief?  An element of devilment?  Or is/was it the joy of creation?  The kick that comes from loving what you do/can do?

I will confess.  I wasn't at Brinkley Court.  I don't have an Aunt called Dahlia.  I never met Bertie W.  

I was actually in the walled garden at Houghton Hall, in Norfolk, guest of a generous friend, and all I want to say is thank you for taking me to see these marvellous flowers.....

So there we have it....

Flower-gathering

I left you in the morning,

And in the morning glow,

You walked a way beside me

To make me sad to go.

Do you know me in the gloaming,

Gaunt and dusty grey with roaming?

Are you dumb because you know me not,

Or dumb because you know?

All for me? And not a question

For the faded flowers gay

That could take me from beside you

For the ages of a day?

They are yours, and be the measure

Of their worth for you to treasure,

The measure of the little while

That I’ve been long away.

Robert Frost