Mother Nature, My Favourite House Guest

When I was still living at home, as in the house where my mum would put out a beautiful bunch of flowers on the kitchen table, and the house where my siblings and I would fight to the death over the last half-piece of bacon, and even the house where my dog would leave us the smelliest of presents in the darkest of corners, I never came to fully appreciate just how much I needed those flowers my mum would so diligently adorn our house with. Although I did very quickly appreciate the lack of bacon debacles and poopy presents. (Warding off my dog’s twisted sense of humour has been a struggle.)

But now it has hit me as to why flowers are a necessity my mum couldn’t go without. Quite simply, flowers are 24/7 spreaders of joy and cheer.

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 But now I am forced to accept the weeds along the side of the road on my way to class as  indifferent replacements. Once upon a time, dandelions were sweet, simple gestures, but now they are my only hope for a burst of natural exuberance. Long story short, my life is lacking some natural exuberance.

I just want a chair where I can feel like my bottom’s on vacation.

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Or a room where the walls are purely white because the flowers speak for themselves, breathing into the room with colourful exhales.

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 Even if that means just a sliver of life, like a single branch, or, if i’m really and truly desperate, a picture of pressed flowers will do just fine.

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Perhaps one day I’ll try to act as though I am Mother Nature herself, deserving of an indulgence so cheerful and so joyous that it’s simply not meant for the mortal race; I would drape a string of bottles with my lovely cheerleaders in each one over top of my desk. Ah, the optimistic sense of motivation I’d be given.

“She has it! She’s got it! She can always do it! Wahoo! Yippee doo dah! Look at her go!”

My cheer of choice. Thanks, ladies.

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As a result of my desire to make my humble abode as welcoming as possible to my future flowery tenants, I came across some damn nifty flower-trappers. Don’t worry. To the flower familia, this contraption is just called, “Palace for Joy.” What a life they lead. Maybe one day my room can just be permanently entitled, “Palace for Joy.” Although of course I’m going to need some flowers for that to even be a possibility. No Joy Palace lacks in Mother Nature’s offspring. Don’t be fooled. She needs an heir or two.

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Mmmmm. Yes, that is my go-to response for these babies. Simply, “mmmm.” Maybe it’s this dreamy photography, where the flowers look as though they really are captured from  utopia in glass water drops, but something tells me that the way the sunlight would dance through these Orbs of Joy would at the very least warrant an, “Mmmm” or a, “My god, I think I just opened my eyes for the first time” or maybe, “Turn me into a fairy, asap. My homeland is calling me.”

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Luckily for me, I live with someone who shares this somewhat obsessive appreciation for flowers. Now what does this naturally call for? A wall of pressed cheerleaders. Okay, that was admittedly disturbing, but remember that the cheerleaders of the Earth actually enjoy it. Their presence is intended to be permanent, but for some reason (someone told me because they are technically alive, but it could be a rumour) they need water and whatnot to keep on livin’. So pressed flowers are a beautifully convenient replacement.

Here is a perhaps more fancy-shmancy-DIY-skillz version..

If you want to get really epic:

gorgeous garden wallUntil next time, keep smilin’ (with flowers in your room, I think I’ve made it seem like that’s the only way possible).

*m

first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh is me, eighth, ninth

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