Cherry Blossoms Around the Corner
The way my business works, selling wholesale to retailers, we’re supposed to operate way ahead of time… Christmas in July and all that. Since I don’t currently sell to any big guys, I don’t have to lean too hard into this accelerated timeline. Thankfully, a lot of my accounts are independently owned and operated by women just like me***, and though they want to be ready for the upcoming holidays, they also want to enjoy their lives by the actual seasons and not rush things too much.
[***ON THAT NOTE, please participate in the Economic Blackout happening on Friday 2/28 and refrain from spending money at big box chain stores and digital monopolies. Don’t use your credit card, don’t buy gas. DO feel free to support independent small businesses in your community. They will be SO happy for your support. For more on the importance of small storefront businesses in your area, I highly recommend Caroline Weaver’s work. She is the owner of Locavore Variety Store, one of my favorite accounts, and the author of The Locavore Guide to Shopping NYC.]
But I think we can all agree that rushing spring is an okay thing to do — necessary even. And with that, I made a color way for linen napkins that honors one of my favorite signs of peak spring — trees bursting with pink cherry blossoms. There are few things better on Earth. So if you are ready for something cheerful, check out the Cherry Blossom Linen Napkins.
And please enjoy this accompanying poem I wrote a few springs ago.
High Spring
No one argues when you tell them you love flowers,
When you delight at them from every sidewalk,
Crane your neck while driving,
And shout their names out loud.
I like to cut wild bunches and bring them inside
To sit on my mantle and remind me
That life is beautiful, there are flowers right outside my door,
And I’m lucky and rich.
For far longer than I expected I’ve been
A colorful thing growing with no instruction.
Reckless, unparented, unpoliced–
You could pick me and I might just blow away.
You’re the flowers and I am,
And we’re peeling petals off each other slowly.
He loves me, he loves me not–
Little games we make up to pass the time.
When we’re done we’ll be dark, brittle things,
All stems and seed pockets.
Naked, close to death,
And just about to be reborn.
We’ve been saying there’s a season, Ecclesiastes and all that,
For a long long time.
And the pink falling from the trees this morning.
There’s a pile of blossoms underfoot.
-DDH
