I’ve always loved daisies. Not the ones that come in a whole bunch of different colours at the grocery stores, but the ones that my sister and friends have lovingly dubbed “ditch daisies.”
The ones that grow on the side of the road, wild and free. With hearty stalks and faces that reach toward the sun. The ones that don’t grow in nicely cultivated places, but grow out of the hard land that hasn’t been tended, and is mostly forgotten.
The flowers that children make crowns out of, wreathing their innocent heads, making them feel like a queen, the fairest in the land. The ones bouquets are made of by small hands and given to mom as a token of love.
They don’t need a pricey vase; they look perfect in an old milk bottle, or an empty mug. These are the only kind of flowers that I want given to me.
Image: Simer Haer/The Cascade
