We begin within the hairy bloom of the foxglove plant, speckled with dark blood-red markings as accentuated by a pale surrounding aura of creamy white. It demands that we peer closer, lean in, and probe more deeply into its mystery and beauty. This is what I so adore about flowers – the tease, the flirtation, the invitation, and the seduction. More happens in the garden than most people realize, and I pity those who miss it because they are no longer thrilled by natural and simple beauty.
There are stories and fables and fairy tales that gave the foxglove its common name, and sometimes writing them out or explaining them in great detail ruins the magic inherent in a name. We may have lost an appreciation of such nuance, such subtlety, and maybe we need to stop speaking so much to return to that state of gratitude.
