images: Imane Fiocchi
One of my favorite places visited during my recent trip to Japan was Daishō-in Buddhist temple on Miyajima Island. It is absolutely breathtaking. Set high in the mountains the temple grounds is famous for its maple trees and fall colors, but during my early spring hike overcast skies and a cool breeze felt just as magical. As I walked those temple grounds surrounded by incredible greenery and statues of Buddha's disciples, a slight drizzle started so I quickly removed my shoes and scurried into a prayer hall. It was there that a particular site caught my eye and has stayed in my head since.
It was a flower arrangement.
Nothing crazy. Four poppies in a simple, tall vase at the base of a statue of Buddha. The simplicity of the arrangement and the striking beauty of the poppies ( three orange and one pure pink in different blossoming stages) stopped me. I think back that moment a lot. Why? There was just something about the breaking it down to the purest expression of beauty that stuck with me.
Buddha's disciples at Daisho-In temple
Weeks later at the New York City Flower Market, an enormous bundle of fresh poppies stared back at me. I knew I had to take them home.
Of the 50+ flowers, I chose 3 carefully (spoiler alert my 4th is an allium). The selection process was frustrating and meditating. I loved it. I selected, removed, selected again until I found the perfect ones that reminded me of the feeling I had that day in the prayer hall. Present. Happy.
Then something else happened. The poppies reminded me of California, where I was born. And whenever I think of California, an image pops up in my head of a high school girl driving her car with the windows rolled down blasting 2Pac's California Love.
So it was born: Poppy Love. Enjoy! #itsplantporn
