Why Wreaths Keep Empty Centers — In the lantern orchard, under glass jars of firefly light, Tavia threaded rose stems and daisy heads into the first heart wreath for the Quiet Bloom festival. Read the full story →
In the lantern orchard, under glass jars of firefly light, Tavia threaded rose stems and daisy heads into the first heart wreath for the Quiet Bloom festival. She wanted it finished before the last jar dimmed, but every time she crossed the middle with another tulip, the whole wreath sagged with a soft, leafy sigh.
A pale moon-moth drifted down, its wings dusted like flour. “Please,” it whispered, “may I pass through? My sister follows the scent of berries, and I must leave her a doorway.” Tavia held the vine still. The orchard smelled of green stems and warm wax while she waited, counting the moth’s slow wingbeats instead of adding more flowers.
At dawn, the second moth slipped through the open heart and touched antennae with the first. The wreath lifted, round and strong, because the space inside held their path. Ever since, flower wreaths keep an empty center, and if you trace this one with your eyes, you may find the quiet doorway Tavia left under the firefly light.
