a visit to Bow Street Flowers (and a poem)

Bow Street Flowers is in Somerville, MA. near the Cambridge border,

where there are always fun things to see.
On this visit a car covered with floppy discs. 

Remember those? Time warp. And it wasn't that long ago, in real time,

but in virtual time it is ancient history.

But we still have flowers. Right outside the shop, as I walked up,
I watched a woman come out and put her flowers in her bike basket.

I was so enchanted by that sight, I didn't even notice her fabulous pants 

until I looked at the picture she kindly allowed me to take before she cycled away.

If you've read my other Bow Street posts (here and here) you know that there is
much more than flowers in that small shop. Shelley has created a place 

of beauty, warmth and whimsey.
Every time I go there I say I want to live there, and that it's like
walking into a story book. Because it is.

I had one of those childhoods where I wanted to be part of
everyone else's family. I was always looking for a home. And now,
I have a lovely home (two, in fact) and a dear family,
but that lonely child hovers.

There are places that fill me with longing and love.

A little shop with rabbits underfoot

and flowers galore makes me feel complete.

I bring some of that home with me,

 flowers, enough for two arrangements.

Aji supervises.

I smile all day. It's the flowers, and more.

                          Dog-Days

A ladder sticking up at the open window,

The top of an old ladder,

And all of Summer is there.

Great waves and tufts of wisteria surge across

        the window

And a thin, bleated blossom

Jerks up and down in the sunlight;

Purple translucence against the blue sky.

"Tie back this branch," I say,

But my hands are sticky with leaves,

And my nostrils widen to the smell of crushed green.

The ladder moves uneasily at the open window,

And I call to the man beneath,

"Tie back that branch."

There is a ladder leaning against the window-sill,

And a mutter of thunder in the air.

                   --Amy Lowell (1874-1925)