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As far as naturalists are concerned, the great value of wildflowers is in perpetuating the species, in contributing their very presence to the environment in which they play an integral part, though their particular function may not be well understood, even by botanists. Where certain habitats have been disturbed by the construction of dams or human habitations or by the cultivation of land farms and forestry, some flowers have declined in numbers. Occasionally becoming endangered species or even extinct altogether. It is important, therefore, for amateur naturalists to leave such plants where they are, rather than to pick them or attempt to transplant them to their own gardens. Some wildflowers make lovely garden plants and are easy to grow-daisies, violets and buttercups are especially popular and are not all endangered in the wild – and a pretty wildflower garden can turn any backyard into a showplace. But it is always best to purchase the seeds from a commercial nursery or seed Catalog Company rather than try to collect flowers from nature. It is not always easy to reproduce growing conditions in which the plant will feel at home, and it would be a shame to risk the loss of a wildflower in this experimental way.

Popular pastimes for flower lovers in the days before wildflower were considered a natural treasure was to collect and press them. Some enthusiasts would fill entire albums or create handsome dried collages or arrangements, and even today such objects are admired for their beauty. But again, because of the rarity of some flowers and the simple fact that living flowers are always more beautiful than dead ones, collecting them is not recommended. The best ways to bring wildflowers home are through your own photographs or by sketching or painting them on the spot and then displaying your artwork

Jenna was at the airport. She was waiting for her plane. Her plane would leave at 7 p.m. It was only 2 p.m. She had time to eat. She had time to study. She went to the airport restaurant. The restaurant was on the third floor. The restaurant was full. There were no empty seats. There were no empty tables. She didn’t want to stand in line. She didn’t want to wait. There was another restaurant in the airport. It was on the first floor. She went down to the first floor. That restaurant was almost empty. There were many seats and many tables.

Love songs are everywhere. But does anyone have a definition of love, which — people claim — makes the world go around? Sure, it’s easy to tell when you’re in love with someone. [The heart pounds and you act like an idiot.] But it’s much harder to say if you actually love someone.

Enter the mind of Harry Jenkins, as he is about to make love to Natasha,

And then he laughed at himself as he sank beneath the covers. No sane man would question such free and voluptuous pleasure, as if it could only be valued through thought. Only an idiot or a fool would try to analyze love and passion

Nonetheless, like the fool, I seek a definition. Perhaps it is the lawyer in me. On the subject of love, Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, is a sobering read. All of us, supposedly, carry within us, an animus [if you’re female] and an anima [if you’re male], which is the idealized image of the person you love. And so, when you are in love you are projecting this idealized image on a real, live person who might be naturally quite entitled to be different.

After the honeymoon, those annoying little cracks in the image appear, which could certainly explain the high divorce rate. When you find the real person doesn’t exactly match your superimposed ideal, what do you do?

All of these thoughts led me to explore people’s ideas of all kinds of love, not just the romantic variety, in Final Paradox, the second in The Osgoode Trilogy.

Harry Jenkins is the lawyer protagonist throughout the trilogy, which contain storylines of murder and fraud. He is in the thrall of the beautiful Natasha. His aging father, who abandoned him as a child, has just asked his forgiveness. Harry can’t seem to find that in his heart. Natasha asks him—

What do you think love is?
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s about wanting someone as part of your life. Wanting them always with you.” He looked into her eyes. “Why? What do you think?”

“I think it’s about getting outside yourself and seeing another person’s life from their point of view. At least that’s a start,” Natasha replied.

Harry heard his father’s words. It’s all about you, is it? Would he always be the kid, he wondered?

Another character musing about love is Norma Dinnick — an elderly client of Harry’s who trips back and forth between lucidity and madness. She recollects her stew of feelings for various men.

Going back to her hotel, Norma tried to understand. She knew about affection and caring for Arthur, her husband, who kept her safe from the emptiness. But she did not understand this business of love, which David talked about. She did know that such emotions gave her a sense of power. The sheer lust she experienced in the presence of George made her feel weak and vulnerable.

Norma simply doesn’t understand about love and neither does Bronwyn — another character. An embittered soul, she has married a gay man and on her honeymoon – She wandered the narrow beach of sand and stone where the boats ferried back and forth to the grottos. No Peter. But then she saw him at a distance on the beach walking slowly with a younger man she did not know. Where had they come from? Right from the start, she had known. Of course, the bargain was unspoken but well understood. For money and security, Bronwyn had sacrificed any chance for love.

But in the end, Harry does begin to get it. In bed with the lovely Natasha, he was

…transported outside his own body, he was overcome with the desire to know the dreams, fantasies, and mysteries she held within. He would enter her world with love and understanding and never leave. The awe he felt in her closeness made his breathing slow and deepen in rhythm with hers. He watched his hand reach out of the shadows to smooth the sheet. She was at last in his bed and, fearing a mirage, he dared not wake her. In the past two weeks, his world had been shaken. His mind had become a jumble of colliding, conflicting events and consequences. Now he felt her power to draw his life together. A still peace gently settled over him like a silken web of meaning.

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