June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Tangerine is the Aqua Escape Bouquet

The Aqua Escape Bouquet from Bloom Central is a delightful floral masterpiece that will surely brighten up any room. With its vibrant colors and stunning design, it's no wonder why this bouquet is stealing hearts.

Bringing together brilliant orange gerbera daisies, orange spray roses, fragrant pink gilly flower, and lavender mini carnations, accented with fronds of Queen Anne's Lace and lush greens, this flower arrangement is a memory maker.

What makes this bouquet truly unique is its aquatic-inspired container. The aqua vase resembles gentle ripples on water, creating beachy, summertime feel any time of the year.

As you gaze upon the Aqua Escape Bouquet, you can't help but feel an instant sense of joy and serenity wash over you. Its cool tones combined with bursts of vibrant hues create a harmonious balance that instantly uplifts your spirits.

Not only does this bouquet look incredible; it also smells absolutely divine! The scent wafting through the air transports you to blooming gardens filled with fragrant blossoms. It's as if nature itself has been captured in these splendid flowers.

The Aqua Escape Bouquet makes for an ideal gift for all occasions whether it be birthdays, anniversaries or simply just because! Who wouldn't appreciate such beauty?

And speaking about convenience, did we mention how long-lasting these blooms are? You'll be amazed at their endurance as they continue to bring joy day after day. Simply change out the water regularly and trim any stems if needed; easy peasy lemon squeezy!

So go ahead and treat yourself or someone dear with the extraordinary Aqua Escape Bouquet from Bloom Central today! Let its charm captivate both young moms and experienced ones alike. This stunning arrangement, with its soothing vibes and sweet scent, is sure to make any day a little brighter!

Consider the Cosmos ... a flower that floats where others anchor, that levitates above the dirt with the insouciance of a daydream. Its petals are tissue-paper thin, arranged around a yolk-bright center like rays from a child’s sun drawing, but don’t mistake this simplicity for naivete. The Cosmos is a masterclass in minimalism, each bloom a tiny galaxy spinning on a stem so slender it seems to defy physics. You’ve seen them in ditches, maybe, or flanking suburban mailboxes—spindly things that shrug off neglect, that bloom harder the less you care. But pluck a fistful, jam them into a vase between the carnations and the chrysanthemums, and watch the whole arrangement exhale. Suddenly there’s air in the room. Movement. The Cosmos don’t sit; they sway.

What’s wild is how they thrive on contradiction. Their name ... kosmos in Greek, a term Pythagoras might’ve used to describe the ordered universe ... but the flower itself is chaos incarnate. Leaves like fern fronds, fine as lace, dissect the light into a million shards. Stems that zig where others zag, creating negative space that’s not empty but alive, a lattice for shadows to play. And those flowers—eight petals each, usually, though you’d need a botanist’s focus to count them as they tremble. They come in pinks that blush harder in the sun, whites so pure they make lilies look dingy, crimsons that hum like a bass note under all that pastel. Pair them with zinnias, and the zinnias gain levity. Pair them with sage, and the sage stops smelling like a roast and starts smelling like a meadow.

Florists underestimate them. Too common, they say. Too weedy. But this is the Cosmos’ secret superpower: it refuses to be precious. While orchids sulk in their pots and roses demand constant praise, the Cosmos just ... grows. It’s the people’s flower, democratic, prolific, a bloom that doesn’t know it’s supposed to play hard to get. Snip a stem, and three more will surge up to replace it. Leave it in a vase, and it’ll drink water like it’s still rooted in earth, petals quivering as if laughing at the concept of mortality. Days later, when the lilacs have collapsed into mush, the Cosmos stands tall, maybe a little faded, but still game, still throwing its face toward the window.

And the varieties. The ‘Sea Shells’ series, petals rolled into tiny flutes, as if each bloom were frozen mid-whisper. The ‘Picotee,’ edges dipped in rouge like a lipsticked kiss. The ‘Double Click’ varieties, pom-poms of petals that mock the very idea of minimalism. But even at their frilliest, Cosmos never lose that lightness, that sense that a stiff breeze could send them spiraling into the sky. Arrange them en masse, and they’re a cloud of color. Use one as a punctuation mark in a bouquet, and it becomes the sentence’s pivot, the word that makes you rethink everything before it.

Here’s the thing about Cosmos: they’re gardeners’ jazz. Structured enough to follow the rules—plant in sun, water occasionally, wait—but improvisational in their beauty, their willingness to bolt toward the light, to flop dramatically, to reseed in cracks and corners where no flower has a right to be. They’re the guest who shows up to a black-tie event in a linen suit and ends up being the most photographed. The more you try to tame them, the more they remind you that control is an illusion.

Put them in a mason jar on a desk cluttered with bills, and the desk becomes a still life. Tuck them behind a bride’s ear, and the wedding photos tilt toward whimsy. They’re the antidote to stiffness, to the overthought, to the fear that nothing blooms without being coddled. Next time you pass a patch of Cosmos—straggling by a highway, maybe, or tangled in a neighbor’s fence—grab a stem. Take it home. Let it remind you that resilience can be delicate, that grace doesn’t require grandeur, that sometimes the most breathtaking things are the ones that grow as if they’ve got nothing to prove. You’ll stare. You’ll smile. You’ll wonder why you ever bothered with fussier flowers.

Are looking for a Tangerine florist because you are not local to the area? If so, here is a brief travelogue of what Tangerine has to offer. Who knows, perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to come visit soon, partake in some of the fun activities Tangerine has to offer and deliver flowers to your loved one in person!

Tangerine, Florida, exists in the humid, citrus-thick air of Central Florida like a secret whispered between interstates. Drive past the billboards for theme parks and the neon sprawl of Orlando’s periphery, take the exit where pines lean close as if to guide you, and suddenly the world contracts. Here, time moves at the speed of bicycle tires on gravel. The town’s name, Tangerine, hangs in the mind like a riddle. Is it the fruit? The color? Both? Neither? The answer depends on who you ask, or whether you ask at all.

The heart of Tangerine beats in its groves. Citrus trees stretch in precise rows, their leaves glinting like knife blades under the sun. Workers move through them, hands swift as birds, plucking fruit that will become someone’s breakfast juice, a garnish in a Manhattan hotel, a sacrament in a Midwestern church potluck. The soil here is sandy but fertile, stubbornly so, as if defying the state’s condo-choked coastlines. Farmers speak of roots that go deep, of generations who’ve tended the same land, of frost warnings that send them sprinting with smudge pots on winter nights. There’s pride in this. A sense of continuity that feels almost radical in 2024.

Same day service available. Order your Tangerine floral delivery and surprise someone today!

Downtown Tangerine consists of a single traffic light, a post office older than the state’s paved highways, and a diner where the coffee costs a dollar and the gossip is free. Regulars sit at laminate counters debating high school football and the merits of organic fertilizers. Teenagers in pickup trucks wave at old men pruning crepe myrtles. The library, housed in a former train depot, loans out fishing poles alongside novels. At dusk, the streets empty as residents retreat to porches to watch thunderstorms roll in from Lake Apopka, their lightning stitching the sky.

What surprises visitors, when they come, is the water. Tangerine huddles between lakes that shimmer like scattered dimes. Fishermen stalk bass through reeds, their lines arcing in silence. Retirees paddle kayaks past herons frozen in zen-like focus. Children cannonball off docks, their shouts carrying across the surface. The lakes are older than the town, older than memory, and they persist with a quiet dignity, indifferent to the human itch for development. Conservationists here speak not in abstracts but in specifics: gopher tortoises, coontie ferns, the endangered snail kite. Protection becomes tangible, a hand on the shoulder of the future.

The Tangerine Community Center hosts potlucks where casseroles compete like Olympians. Neighbors arrive with stories about the one that got away, the mango tree that finally fruited, the new yoga studio in the strip mall. Someone’s cousin plays guitar. Someone’s grandmother line-dances. It’s easy to smirk at this folksiness until you’re there, elbow-deep in coleslaw, hearing a Vietnam vet laugh so hard he spills sweet tea, and you realize: This is not nostalgia. This is now. This is people choosing to look each other in the eye.

Schools here are small enough that teachers know which students prefer graphing calculators versus abacuses. The annual science fair features volcanoes made from Florida clay. Theatrical productions lean heavy on Shakespeare but heavier on enthusiasm. Parents cheer louder for missed lines than soliloquies.

To call Tangerine “quaint” would miss the point. Quaint implies performance. Tangerine simply is. It resists the Floridian urge to become a parody of itself. No alligator-themed gift shops. No ersatz “old Florida” kitsch. Just a stubborn, sunbaked insistence on being what it’s always been: a place where the word “community” still does work. Where the scent of orange blossoms can stop you mid-sentence. Where the night sky, unpolluted by city lights, reminds you that stars still exist, relentless and bright, doing their ancient work above the rooftops.