You'll be surprised to meet the devotion of the inhabitants of flower town, that small place - not even that far away, just insignificant enough so you never found enough time to drop by before. Word says its people are living for scents, breathe through colors, their conversations revolve around spring bloom or winter cut... Outsiders like us surely won't understand how a bright poppy could be crowned king of the town of flowers, or how those people can be so convinced they did the right choice - how can they assume the blossoms talk to them, how could they claim they understand the language of perfumes? And not even pretend it's a secret? Because yes, when challenged they will patiently go to lengths to point out how the peony greeted you when you entered their garden, or explain why they placed the tea table around the trunk of an old wisteria, or how did the dinner dishes got all in a sudden sprinkled with petals from wild carnations. But they are a hospitable folk and will be happy to serve you unbeliever a fine Elderflower and Honey infused IPA, wood stem like bitterness and light meadows honey breezes. And even after drinking the WhiteFrontier elixir and listening to their passional and flowery explanations you won't be able to figure out who's cultivating who, who's leading who, who's making who happy in the town of flowers. But you'll realize that figuring such details matters less and less, and your tired mind will increasingly grow accustomed to the peace of the flowers. Only then you will start to understand and start contemplating whether someday, maybe, one day, you should move to flower town as well.
