Devonne Brown

Somebody dropped a nosegay on the sidewalk at the gate to my backyard, ribbon and all. I made it clear to Robin that no flowers from my back garden could be used in Holly’s nuptuals…too dangerous. It looked like somebody made wedding bouquets, used my blue and white bloomers anyway. I don’t care how beautiful they were, somebody’s going to get killed picking my flowers. 

 Mint lined the pathways of the backyard. The fresh scent distracts from the poisons growing in the pots and in the ground. They walked the mint path to get to the belladonna, then retraced their steps to the foxglove. They crushed the mint around the oleander, lobelia, and nasturtiums.

Robin and Mason filled a bushel basket full of stalks each toxic blossom, deep in hue, delicate in fragrace, or intricate in design. They weilded the stems and ribbons quick to make bridal party bouquets, nosegays, boutineers, and corsages. They needed center pieces. Robin called in Dreama and Autumn for backup. I would be home by four. They had to be outta there.

The white of the oleander and the blues of the belladonna and foxglove was handheld death. Liquid seeping from the stems of those flowers alone could cause numbness in the limbs at least.

They’d die if they chewed on a stem of oleander. It was a beautiful flower, so attractive, yet it couldn’t be bought at the local florists, none of these could. Belladonna’s used to make morphine and Foxglove made digitalis for the heart. Those two alone can do some damage as well.

Handle with care. The ocassional nasturtium blossum and a long trail of blue lobelia, though not poisonous, created just about the prettiest bouquet I’d ever seen, and it was all made from my garden. I couldn’t wait to get it into some water. I had a short ruby glass bottle for the perfect vase. 

An idiot made this bouquet.

My intruders did less damage than the squirrels did when they went on a digging tear in that they didn’t kill anything.

They were monsters. My garden didn’t need such a severe pruning. All its soft edges were gone. They cut the foxglove back to the ground. The morning glories clung to the fence; they no longer blew in the wind. My beloved belladonna, two blossoms, they left me in that whole big flower bed. I hoped they chewed a stem and fell asleep, missed the wedding, and damn near died.

They made my oleander bush ugly. They carved it into a box to get its beautiful tendrils. My wild and waving delicate oleander, covered in white flowers, deadly as cyanide, though not as fast but twice as painful, plated the palette of blue poisons. 

Someone in the wedding party would pay for their thievery and damages. They’d believe her about the flowers too.