Easing into January

This one came together almost by accident — the best kind, right? I wasn't trying to be dramatic. I just wanted to explore what quiet strength might feel like.

I picked a white vessel — smooth, grounded, a little like a pebble — and nestled in two hellebores with deep plum petals that curled just enough to feel slightly defiant. They weren't flashy, but they knew who they were.

One leaned in, the other leaned out, like a conversation in slow motion. I added a curved leaf for movement, and tiny white buds as soft punctuation — like whispers in a moody jazz song.

It's elegant, yes. But it's got attitude. These flowers don't need to raise their voices. They're just holding their own, grounded and graceful.

This one came together in one of those quiet moments when you just follow the feelings rather than a plan.

It started with two white blooms; clean, open, and full of grace. I didn't want them to mirror each other or feel too "placed." I angled one slightly to the left, the other slightly to the right, like they were mid-dance, pausing to listen for the next note.

Then came the greens. I chose long, arching leaves and placed them so they curved around the blooms, not containing them, but giving them a little space to stretch. It felt like choreography: the kind that lets each dancer shine without stepping on toes.

The base was simple, grounding. I didn't want anything too loud, just something that held the movement without getting in the way.

By the time I stepped back, it felt like the flowers were in conversation. Not trying to be the same. Just showing up, beautifully, in their own ways. Connected, but independent. It made me think about friendships like that. Or relationships. Or even how we show up for ourselves.

To me, this piece feels like lightness and harmony. A little playful. A little poetic. It reminded me that connection doesn't always mean closeness, sometimes it's about moving together, even while doing your own thing.