I love all flowers

　　One morning, I went to the flower market, bought hundreds of lilies, and filled the room with them. On that quiet night, I opened all the windows and doors in my house, sat in the dark, and quietly let the breeze blow the breath of the lily.
　　I love all flowers. On any of the colorful flower stalls, the magnificence of all kinds of flowers has become the most beautiful embellishment in the city. In fact, I don’t love flower gardens. What I love is the wild flowers that change with the seasons in the wilderness and the touch when the breeze blows across the earth.
　　 People living in the city have no choice but to bring some flowers home in the flower market. For the flowers that leave the soil, I always feel sorry and sorry for them, but I still have to buy them. This kind of apology and joy to Hua cannot be overly analyzed.
　　 Among all the flowers, if I want to say “favorite”, I choose all white flowers. Among the white flowers, I love wild ginger and lily–the long-stemmed ones.
　　 Many years ago, I was living on a small island in the Atlantic Ocean. At that time, the economy was tight and my husband had been out of work for almost a year. I grow vegetables at home, and I plant dead branches and miscanthus that are one person tall in the house. Those kinds of things have high artistic taste and are not bad. I don’t buy flowers.
　　 One day, my husband and I opened our mailbox, and there was another reply letter from job application rejection. At that time, in fact, the mountains and rivers were not exhausted, and the days of simple food and drink were not sad, but all material enjoyments other than life-sustaining were no longer daring to be extravagant. It was a kind of fear. Seeing the savings decrease day by day, I was so afraid that I lost my sense of security. This situation can only be understood by those who have experienced unemployment.
　　 Seeing that our job hunting was frustrated again, we went to the big vegetable market without saying anything, bought some cheapest frozen ribs and mineral water, and came out. Somehow, my husband disappeared, and I stood on the street waiting, worried. After a while, my husband came back, holding a small bouquet of lilies in his hand, and handed them to me excitedly, saying: “The lilies are on the market.”
　　 At that moment, I suddenly lost my mind and yelled at my husband: “When is it? What financial capacity? Are you sensible enough to buy flowers?!” As I spoke, I threw the bouquet of flowers into the On the ground, turn around and run. The moment I took the step, I actually regretted it. I turned around and saw my husband stayed there for a second or two, then bent down and slowly picked up the flowers scattered on the ground.
　　 I ran to him and shouted: “Jose, I’m sorry.” I rushed to hug him, and he put his arms around my back, tightening them tightly. We looked at each other, and I found my husband’s eyes were red. When I got home and put the three or five lilies alone in the water bottle, I seemed to see my husband’s painstaking efforts. Why didn’t he want to buy a big vat of lilies, but he didn’t dare to squander the money in his pocket. After all, even a small bundle is still his love.
　　 That time, it was my superficiality and impatience that hurt him. We never mentioned it again after that. Four years later, I went to visit my husband’s grave, and when I entered the flower shop, I said to the flower seller, “I’ll buy all these five barrels full of flowers, don’t worry about the price.” Sitting on the grave covered with flowers , I stared at the large area of ​​flowers and loess, my eyes were dry. From then on, whenever lilies were in season, I would always stand in front of the flower stand in a daze.
　　 One morning, I went to the flower market, bought hundreds of lilies, and filled the room with them. On that quiet night, I opened all the windows and doors in my house, sat in the dark, and quietly let the breeze blow the breath of the lily.
　　 That was seven years after her husband died. It’s the season of lilies blooming again. Seeing them, I seem to have seen the scene of my husband bending down to pick flowers from the ground. There were no tears, and my stomach started throbbing.