An Ode, of sorts, to Tulips

I bought two bunches of tulips on Wednesday.  I bought them two days too early.  Today they are perfect, but they seem destined to fall apart by Sunday when they are supposed to grace my Easter table.

I put the purple bunch in a short, wide vase.  I know little about flower arranging, so I cut them all to about the same height and carefully put them in the vase one at a time so that they reach out in all directions.  The heads that were tightly closed two days ago have opened up: still disciplined in their tightness, but much plumper now.  The stems dip and curve, each one different from the other, elegant and graceful like a swan when it stretches out its neck.  One of the stems reaches out horizontally, while the others are in various stages of sinewy uprightness.  I see one flower whose petals are starting to loosen up, soon to reveal the pollen-tinged pistil and stamen inside.  Those petals will probably be dropping by tomorrow.  A purple snowfall is forecast for Sunday.

The yellow tulips, that bright Easter yellow, the yellow of Peeps, are arranged in a tall glass vase.  I say arranged, but there wasn’t much arranging involved – the narrow glass vase dictated the composition.  The yellow makes me happy, it makes me think “Spring”.  The stems intertwine below the water line, sending the flowers out above the lip of the vase into a happy explosion.  There are no signs yet of loosening flower heads, yet.  Perhaps the raining down of yellow petals on white linen will be delayed.