There’s a kind of quiet romance to phlox.
It doesn’t shout for attention; it simply arrives softly, steadily casting a haze of color across the garden like a watercolor wash.
Phlox belongs to the long summer evenings. The ones where the air is heavy with honeysuckle, and time seems to stretch just a little. Its blooms are generous, its fragrance subtle, but unmistakable if you stand still long enough to notice.
It’s the flower that stays when others fade. A steadfast companion to the slow turning of seasons.
There’s a kind of quiet romance to phlox.
It doesn’t shout for attention; it simply arrives softly, steadily casting a haze of color across the garden like a watercolor wash.
Phlox belongs to the long summer evenings. The ones where the air is heavy with honeysuckle, and time seems to stretch just a little. Its blooms are generous, its fragrance subtle, but unmistakable if you stand still long enough to notice.
It’s the flower that stays when others fade. A steadfast companion to the slow turning of seasons.
