March 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for March in Westfield is the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens

Introducing the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens floral arrangement! Blooming with bright colors to boldly express your every emotion, this exquisite flower bouquet is set to celebrate. Hot pink roses, purple Peruvian Lilies, lavender mini carnations, green hypericum berries, lily grass blades, and lush greens are brought together to create an incredible flower arrangement.

The flowers are artfully arranged in a clear glass cube vase, allowing their natural beauty to shine through. The lucky recipient will feel like you have just picked the flowers yourself from a beautiful garden!

Whether you're celebrating an anniversary, sending get well wishes or simply saying 'I love you', the Be Bold Bouquet is always appropriate. This floral selection has timeless appeal and will be cherished by anyone who is lucky enough to receive it.

Better Homes and Gardens has truly outdone themselves with this incredible creation. Their attention to detail shines through in every petal and leaf - creating an arrangement that not only looks stunning but also feels incredibly luxurious.

If you're looking for a captivating floral arrangement that brings joy wherever it goes, the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens is the perfect choice. The stunning colors, long-lasting blooms, delightful fragrance and affordable price make it a true winner in every way. Get ready to add a touch of boldness and beauty to someone's life - you won't regret it!

Anemones don’t just bloom ... they perform. One day, the bud is a clenched fist, dark as a bruise. The next, it’s a pirouette of petals, white or pink or violet, cradling a center so black it seems to swallow light. This isn’t a flower. It’s a stage. The anemone’s drama isn’t subtle. It’s a dare.

Consider the contrast. Those jet-black centers—velvet voids fringed with stamen like eyelashes—aren’t flaws. They’re exclamation points. Pair anemones with pale peonies or creamy roses, and suddenly the softness sharpens, the arrangement gaining depth, a chiaroscuro effect that turns a vase into a Caravaggio. The dark heart isn’t morbid. It’s magnetism. A visual anchor that makes the petals glow brighter, as if the flower is hoarding stolen moonlight.

Their stems bend but don’t break. Slender, almost wiry, they arc with a ballerina’s grace, blooms nodding as if whispering secrets to the tabletop. Let them lean. An arrangement with anemones isn’t static ... it’s a conversation. Cluster them in a low bowl, let stems tangle, and the effect is wild, like catching flowers mid-argument.

Color here is a magician’s trick. White anemones aren’t white. They’re opalescent, shifting silver in low light. The red ones? They’re not red. They’re arterial, a pulse in petal form. And the blues—those rare, impossible blues—feel borrowed from some deeper stratum of the sky. Mix them, and the vase becomes a mosaic, each bloom a tile in a stained-glass narrative.

They’re ephemeral but not fragile. Anemones open wide, reckless, petals splaying until the flower seems moments from tearing itself apart. This isn’t decay. It’s abandon. They live hard, bloom harder, then bow out fast, leaving you nostalgic for a spectacle that lasted days, not weeks. The brevity isn’t a flaw. It’s a lesson. Beauty doesn’t need forever to matter.

Scent is minimal. A green whisper, a hint of earth. This is deliberate. Anemones reject olfactory competition. They’re here for your eyes, your Instagram, your retinas’ undivided awe. Let lilies handle perfume. Anemones deal in visual velocity.

When they fade, they do it theatrically. Petals curl inward, edges crisping like burning paper, the black center lingering like a pupil watching you. Save them. Press them. Even dying, they’re photogenic, their decay a curated performance.

You could call them high-maintenance. Temperamental. But that’s like faulting a comet for its tail. Anemones aren’t flowers. They’re events. An arrangement with them isn’t decoration. It’s a front-row seat to botanical theater. A reminder that sometimes, the most fleeting things ... are the ones that linger.