The Gentleman Florist

The sound of a tractor in the distant meadow catches our attention this morning. It could be one of  the Antinori workers tilling the vineyards, but somehow the sound seems higher up than usual and we are certain that the cutting has begun.

Later that afternoon, when we round the bend opening into the largest meadow, he is still there. The farmer’s work is almost finished. Every feather topped blade of grass, every yellow and white wild flower, each bright red poppy and the nets of violet laced throughout are gone. Just like that. Gone.

green and brown stems

In a matter of weeks, maybe even days, the beauty would certainly have faded on its own. And truth be told, the process was already underway. With each of our disruptive reedy steps, the beautiful colors were soaking back into the ground as the fragrance was drifting away on the breeze. Now, after only one day of resting in the sun, the color has already faded—abundant majesty swiftly transformed into a soft gray-green mat, submissively waiting to be gathered, tied and transformed once again into great rolls of winter feed.

graceful cylindrical buds

We stand in awe of this sudden new beauty—the meadow magically transformed into an irresistibly soft muted carpet of green and brown—grand stems gently laid down. We imagine that the new flowers have closed for the evening into graceful cylindrical buds cooling down in the dimming light and shadow. This farmer, a gentleman florist, has created an incredible bouquet. He knows that each rolled flower will open in turn to provide a beauty and sustenance far beyond that which can be seen. This new creation will inspire and feed the souls of many.

his work is done

Watching the artistry in action humbles us. We marvel at the feel of our shoes shuffling across the now short grasses. Before long, the neatly cut stubble will once again burst into a delightfully wild frenzy of new and fragrant colors. We will again hear the muffled flicking of our feet in the tall grass. We will feel the sensation of lightly brushing our open palms on the feathery tops as we pass. Then, with great excitement we will once more wax eloquently on the incomparable beauty, as if experiencing it for the very first time

Note: You may also enjoy our story called “Change Tuscan Style.” where the same meadows are being transformed into beautiful vineyards.

 

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