there are flowers vasing on my windowsill, collecting bubbles around their stems. i don't know what any of them are by any name that a botanist would approve of, but they are these:

fifteenpetaled in burnt sienna and dusty pink, with exuberant buttery yellow stamen huddling around a deep violet center.
thin fuschia petals like an anenome underwater, but with a daisyellow center and little spindly leaves.
something pale purple and thistlelike, a spikysoft explosion plummeting out of pale green lace, and smelling incredibly like chocolate.

the overalled woman at the farmer's market refused to accept my bouquet, insisting that i add more flowers even as i passed and almost doubled the dozen-for-a-dollar mark. i had also a number of rowdy orange chrysanthemums, and as i handed her my dollar, she added a dozen softpink lillies with a smile.