My brother lives up a long and winding mountain road, the kind of road that is full of dappled shade. Trees grow here in abundance. Ferns and all varieties of wild flowers, too.
Queen Anne's lace.
So many others.
All these went into bouquets and table flowers and window arrangements to make for a home-made-with-love day. It seemed the whole town was picking flowers and putting them in jars and pots and vases.
We drove the roads where my brother lives to get to the inn where my family was staying, to get to the home where we were staying, to get to the church, my brother's place, the town hall. And if we drove slowly enough, we saw the flowers, wild, free, lovely.