Any time I get a yen for fresh flowers, I head outside to my back yard and I'm a little girl again, picking flowers for my mother. A June morning stroll yields an assortment of blooms perfect to make some tiny bouquets. 
I snip sweet-smelling chamomile, grab the clippers and take a bunch of heavily scented roses. Next I pick a bit of catnip and some ladies mantle to act as a filler and I'm ready to make some little arrangements for the house.
Old spice jars and college beer mugs from years ago make fine containers for my treasures.
The bouquets are fleeting like my days, but no matter. Each one is lovely, if only for a moment. Tomorrow is another day and something new will be in bloom
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