I adore the unabashed nature of wild flowers. Their petals go every-which-way and they intermingle with each other when overgrown in a late summer garden. My grandmother was the one who taught me to love and adore flowers. She had a carefully curated acreage with flowers from generations past. What I would give to go back in time and collect every seed and cutting from her gardens. She had "heirloom" plants before the word "heirloom" existed. She would walk her property and tell me exactly where each plant came from. "This one Eva and I dug up near an old cemetery in Avant", she would say as she pointed to a bed of bright yellow iris. I don't think I can actually convey my love of flowers in written words. The make my heart leap, the stop me in my busy tracks, they can take the breath from my lungs. Vivid colors, unexpected shapes, and abnormal growing patterns. They break all the rules and look beautiful doing it.