On the top floor of Takasyimaya, in a fairy tale garden, I saw my first Vanda Orchid. Its face appeared to seek out the sunlight, stretching and spreading across the wooden floor, entering between the impossibly tall buildings flanking Fifth Avenue. Blooms of soft lilac and white gingham suspended by invisible fishing line, danced between paper thin Origami Cranes, all hung weightlessly from this vast oak tree in the middle of the room. The memory remained and I cannot resist bringing them in as a secret reminder of how I fell in love with flowers.
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