April 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for April in Solomon is the Circling the Sun Luxury Bouquet

The Circling the Sun Luxury Bouquet is a floral arrangement that simply takes your breath away! Bursting with vibrant colors and delicate blooms, this bouquet is as much a work of art as it is a floral arrangement.

As you gaze upon this stunning arrangement, you'll be captivated by its sheer beauty. Arranged within a clear glass pillow vase that makes it look as if this bouquet has been captured in time, this design starts with river rocks at the base topped with yellow Cymbidium Orchid blooms and culminates with Captain Safari Mini Calla Lilies and variegated steel grass blades circling overhead. A unique arrangement that was meant to impress.

What sets this luxury bouquet apart is its impeccable presentation - expertly arranged by Bloom Central's skilled florists who pour heart into every petal placement. Each flower stands gracefully at just right height creating balance within itself as well as among others in its vicinity-making it look absolutely drool-worthy!

Whether gracing your dining table during family gatherings or adding charm to an office space filled with deadlines the Circling The Sun Luxury Bouquet brings nature's splendor indoors effortlessly. This beautiful gift will brighten the day and remind you that life is filled with beauty and moments to be cherished.

With its stunning blend of colors, fine craftsmanship, and sheer elegance the Circling the Sun Luxury Bouquet from Bloom Central truly deserves a standing ovation. Treat yourself or surprise someone special because everyone deserves a little bit of sunshine in their lives!"

The Chocolate Cosmos doesn’t just sit in a vase—it lingers. It hovers there, radiating a scent so improbably rich, so decadently specific, that your brain short-circuits for a second trying to reconcile flower and food. The name isn’t hyperbole. These blooms—small, velvety, the color of dark cocoa powder dusted with cinnamon—actually smell like chocolate. Not the cloying artificiality of candy, but the deep, earthy aroma of baker’s chocolate melting in a double boiler. It’s olfactory sleight of hand. It’s witchcraft with petals.

Visually, they’re understudies at first glance. Their petals, slightly ruffled, form cups no wider than a silver dollar, their maroon so dark it reads as black in low light. But this is their trick. In a bouquet of shouters—peonies, sunflowers, anything begging for attention—the Chocolate Cosmos works in whispers. It doesn’t compete. It complicates. Pair it with blush roses, and suddenly the roses smell sweeter by proximity. Tuck it among sprigs of mint or lavender, and the whole arrangement becomes a sensory paradox: garden meets patisserie.

Then there’s the texture. Unlike the plasticky sheen of many cultivated flowers, these blooms have a tactile depth—a velveteen nap that begs fingertips. Brushing one is like touching the inside of an antique jewelry box ... that somehow exudes the scent of a Viennese chocolatier. This duality—visual subtlety, sensory extravagance—makes them irresistible to arrangers who prize nuance over noise.

But the real magic is their rarity. True Chocolate Cosmoses (Cosmos atrosanguineus, if you’re feeling clinical) no longer exist in the wild. Every plant today is a clone of the original, propagated through careful division like some botanical heirloom. This gives them an aura of exclusivity, a sense that you’re not just buying flowers but curating an experience. Their blooming season, mid-to-late summer, aligns with outdoor dinners, twilight gatherings, moments when scent and memory intertwine.

In arrangements, they serve as olfactory anchors. A single stem on a dinner table becomes a conversation piece. "No, you’re not imagining it ... yes, it really does smell like dessert." Cluster them in a low centerpiece, and the scent pools like invisible mist, transforming a meal into theater. Even after cutting, they last longer than expected—their perfume lingering like a guest who knows exactly when to leave.

To call them decorative feels reductive. They’re mood pieces. They’re scent sculptures. In a world where most flowers shout their virtues, the Chocolate Cosmos waits. It lets you lean in. And when you do—when that first whiff of cocoa hits—it rewires your understanding of what a flower can be. Not just beauty. Not just fragrance. But alchemy.

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

To stand at the edge of Solomon, Kansas, as dawn peels back the night, is to witness a kind of elemental theater. The sky does not so much lighten as dissolve into blue, vast and unnegotiable, pressing down on the flatness until the horizon feels less a geographic fact than a metaphysical proposition. The air smells of turned earth and distant rain. Crows stitch the telephone wires. Somewhere, a screen door slaps its frame, and the day begins.

The town itself is a modest grid, its streets lined with houses whose porches sag with the weight of decades. Residents here still wave at passing cars, not as reflex but as ritual, a tiny, defiant affirmation of continuity. At the diner on Main Street, the coffee tastes like it was brewed by someone who knows your name. The eggs arrive without garnish, because garnish would miss the point. Conversations hum beneath the fluorescents: weather, harvests, the high school football team’s odds this fall. The waitress refills your cup three times before you notice she’s doing it.

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

What’s easy to miss, if you’re just driving through, is how the rhythm here bends time. A farmer checks his crops under a sun that seems to slow as it climbs. Children pedal bikes past the library, their laughter trailing behind them like streamers. At the park, old men play chess with a concentration that suggests the fate of nations rests on each move. The train still cuts through town twice a day, hauling grain or coal or whatever the heartland’s veins yield up, its whistle a lonesome chord that somehow makes the silence deeper when it fades.

There’s a ballfield on the south side where, come evening, teenagers gather to hit pop flies until the light fails. Their voices carry, crack of the bat, shouts of Go long!, and for a moment, the ordinary becomes epic. You half-expect a crowd to materialize, cheering ghosts of seasons past. But it’s just kids and dust and the gathering dark, the simplicity of a game that needs no audience to matter.

In Solomon, the annual Fall Festival transforms the square into a carnival of pies, quilts, and pickup trucks parked with military precision. A brass band plays off-key Sousa marches. Toddlers wobble through cakewalks. Someone’s prizewinning pumpkin glows like an orange moon. It’s easy to smirk at the quaintness, until you realize the quaintness is the point, a collective exhale, a way of saying We’re still here without having to say it.

The people of Solomon tend to speak in stories. Ask about the old pharmacy, and you’ll hear how the owner stayed open during the ’51 flood, doling out aspirin by rowboat. Mention the bridge over the Smoky Hill River, and they’ll tell you about the time the mayor’s basset hound staged a six-hour standoff there, stubborn as a sphinx. Every tale feels like a thread in a tapestry nobody’s consciously weaving.

You could call Solomon forgettable, if you’re the kind of person who needs cities to shout their virtues. But that’s the thing about places that don’t shout: They hum. They persist. The fields around town stretch in every direction, gold and green and boundless, and you start to understand how a person might find freedom in the very lack of escape routes. The wind combs the wheat, the clouds drift, and the whole world feels both immense and intimate, like a secret you’ve been let in on.

By nightfall, the stars here are riotous, undimmed by ambition. They pulse. They swarm. You stand in someone’s driveway, saying goodbye for too long, because the talk has turned to planting seasons or grandkids or the strange fox that’s been lurking near the elementary school. Fireflies blink on and off, tiny semaphores. Somewhere, a sprinkler ticks. The moment elongates, stretches, snaps back. You get in your car. You drive away. But the road ahead feels different now, as if the air itself has texture, as if the map, for once, is breathing.