The Flower Shop

About a year ago I discovered a beautiful flower shop in a neighborhood that I liked to visit. Recently there was a sign in the window indicating that it had closed. Aside from the particularly crushing news to me, it was a devastating loss to the local neighborhood and city as a whole. The shop was known for its wonderful, inspired arrangements and routinely won the acclaim of the neighborhood and its fame had spread, quite literally, around the world owing to the cosmopolitan mix and flavor of the neighborhood. Although I'm sure that the spot taken by the little shop in the neighborhood will soon be occupied by some other, in my heart it leaves a gaping hole.

I first noticed the shop because its sign had a picture of a flower I knew as a child in Scotland, a gracious flower with slender stem, leafless, except at the base, with paired, pendulous, long, pale pink flowers having a five-lobed corolla. The sign drew me in to see the wonderful other arrangements and species available. I saw that the owner was busy with others so I didn't try to engage her on that visit and just used the opportunity to marvel at all she had put together in that small space.

On subsequent visits I had opportunity to visit with her and found her to be altogether delightful; she was from abroad, thought Beauty had no borders, and loved only God...a refreshing melange for me to discover since I was more used to women who were decidedly less serious about God. She shared with me that the flower pictured on her sign had a special place in her heart and was quite surprised that I even knew what it was; she called it by a name I don't remember now but I know it as Linnaea borealis, one of the few species actually named after the famous botanist, Carolus Linnaeus, because it was his favorite, having originally named it "Linnaea."

In addition to its fragile beauty, this flower has a much more symbolic meaning to me--a meaning that lent depth and substance to my association with the florist. This particular flower is considered to be an "indicator" species, meaning that its presence indicates ancient woodlands and the presence of other species with which it is often in association. Its link to Scotland endears it even more to me and the signature dual, pale pink blooms gives it a profound spiritual significance, since pink is the color of Divine Compassion.

I wish now I had made a greater effort to spend more time with this wonderful, extraordinary, and beautiful woman; meet her family, if I could have, (I don't even know if she has any family here), listen to her music or read the books she loves. I wish I had held her hand. No one seems to know exactly where she went or why she closed her shop; but I know that, for us, the flower was indeed an "indicator" species, indicating a much more ancient footing upon which we rested, she and I. I don't believe in accidental meetings but, for now, the flower we both loved seems not to know its own name; you see, its common name is Twinflower.