10/31/2026
A Letter from your Florist.
This moment doesn’t happen as often as you’d think.
Floristry is a back stage, behind the scenes service, running it out with stick and poke thorns and yesterdays hair, deeply dedicated to the exact length of the stem I’m plunging in next, in the morning, in the weather, in great care.
You are in a fragrant room of beauty and ch*****ne, hung dresses and hairspray. I hope you are being loved.
I very rarely meet you before the day you are marrying.
Before, we meet through phone calls and emails and honestly some of those are made while I’m drowning in the sea of the season and you are drowning in the sea of believing. We don’t know each others faces.
You don’t know this, but there are colored post-it notes with your name stuck to the walls of my office, with sharpied questions like “burgundy purple or burgundy red?”
You don’t know this, but in the spring I sink seeds into soil with names like Hannah, Sarah, and Kylene.
Colored ribbons tied to long stems in the gardens, like half-mast flags, what an honourable way to go. To be chosen for their ability to speak the language of beauty. To be held in hands over spoken promises of love.
You don’t know this, but the Sunday before your wedding, everything becomes you. The markets, the harvesting, the hours of the day. Your name is imprinted on every morning, the week revolves around the timing of the bloom. The temperature. The late afternoon forage. The late night shop night, which is, anyways, my church.
On your wedding day, if I get the honour or the timing, I wipe my hands and tug at the knots in my hair and knock on your door, to thrust a handful of my heart’s work to you, wrapped in ribbon, spoken in petals. By this moment, I’ve invested my entire self, and you may not know it.
I have left many weddings glassy-eyed for two mostly strangers, with a little poetry left on the floor. A troubadour gone home to pluck the thorns from her hands, only hoping the love came off the page.
The beautiful capture that inspired this by
The beautiful human who stopped mid first look for this hug and made me cry .farrell
