June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Buxton is the Best Day Bouquet

Introducing the Best Day Bouquet - a delightful floral arrangement that will instantly bring joy to any space! Bursting with vibrant colors and charming blooms, this bouquet is sure to make your day brighter. Bloom Central has truly outdone themselves with this perfectly curated collection of flowers. You can't help but smile when you see the Best Day Bouquet.

The first thing that catches your eye are the stunning roses. Soft petals in various shades of pink create an air of elegance and grace. They're complemented beautifully by cheerful sunflowers in bright yellow hues.

But wait, there's more! Sprinkled throughout are delicate purple lisianthus flowers adding depth and texture to the arrangement. Their intricate clusters provide an unexpected touch that takes this bouquet from ordinary to extraordinary.

And let's not forget about those captivating orange lilies! Standing tall amongst their counterparts, they demand attention with their bold color and striking beauty. Their presence brings warmth and enthusiasm into every room they grace.

As if it couldn't get any better, lush greenery frames this masterpiece flawlessly. The carefully selected foliage adds natural charm while highlighting each individual bloom within the bouquet.

Whether it's adorning your kitchen counter or brightening up an office desk, this arrangement simply radiates positivity wherever it goes - making every day feel like the best day. When someone receives these flowers as a gift, they know that someone truly cares about brightening their world.

What sets apart the Best Day Bouquet is its ability to evoke feelings of pure happiness without saying a word. It speaks volumes through its choice selection of blossoms carefully arranged by skilled florists at Bloom Central who have poured their love into creating such a breathtaking display.

So go ahead and treat yourself or surprise a loved one with the Best Day Bouquet. It's a little slice of floral perfection that brings sunshine and smiles in abundance. You deserve to have the best day ever, and this bouquet is here to ensure just that.

Amaranthus does not behave like other flowers. It does not sit politely in a vase, standing upright, nodding gently in the direction of the other blooms. It spills. It drapes. It cascades downward in long, trailing tendrils that look more like something from a dream than something you can actually buy from a florist. It refuses to stay contained, which is exactly why it makes an arrangement feel alive.

There are two main types, though “types” doesn’t really do justice to how completely different they look. There’s the upright kind, with tall, tapering spikes that look like velvet-coated wands reaching toward the sky, adding height and texture and this weirdly ancient, almost prehistoric energy to a bouquet. And then there’s the trailing kind, the showstopper, the one that flows downward in thick ropes, soft and heavy, like some extravagant, botanical waterfall. Both versions have a weight to them, a physical presence that makes the usual rules of flower arranging feel irrelevant.

And the color. Deep, rich, impossible-to-ignore shades of burgundy, magenta, crimson, chartreuse. They look saturated, velvety, intense, like something out of an old oil painting, the kind where fruit and flowers are arranged on a wooden table with dramatic lighting and tiny beads of condensation on the grapes. Stick Amaranthus in a bouquet, and suddenly it feels more expensive, more opulent, more like it should be displayed in a room with high ceilings and heavy curtains and a kind of hushed reverence.

But what really makes Amaranthus unique is movement. Arrangements are usually about balance, about placing each stem at just the right angle to create a structured, harmonious composition. Amaranthus doesn’t care about any of that. It moves. It droops. It reaches out past the edge of the vase and pulls everything around it into a kind of organic, unplanned-looking beauty. A bouquet without Amaranthus can feel static, frozen, too aware of its own perfection. Add those long, trailing ropes, and suddenly there’s drama. There’s tension. There’s this gorgeous contrast between what is contained and what refuses to be.

And it lasts. Long after more delicate flowers have wilted, after the petals have started falling and the leaves have lost their luster, Amaranthus holds on. It dries beautifully, keeping its shape and color for weeks, sometimes months, as if it has decided that decay is simply not an option. Which makes sense, considering its name literally means “unfading” in Greek.

Amaranthus is not for the timid. It does not blend in, does not behave, does not sit quietly in the background. It transforms an arrangement, giving it depth, movement, and this strange, undeniable sense of history, like it belongs to another era but somehow ended up here. Once you start using it, once you see what it does to a bouquet, how it changes the whole mood of a space, you will not go back. Some flowers are beautiful. Amaranthus is unforgettable.

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

Buxton, Maine, sits in the crease of a map you’ve likely never unfolded, a town whose name you might mistake for a typo until you stand at the edge of its woods and watch October light carve the pines into gold wires. The air here smells like sap and possibility, a scent that clings to your jacket as you walk roads where houses wear generations of paint, their porches stacked with firewood that whispers of winters both survived and anticipated. Locals wave from pickup trucks without irony, their hands darting out windows like flags of a tiny, benevolent nation. There’s a rhythm here, not the arrhythmia of cities with their honk-and-sprint chaos, but something older, truer, the cadence of rototillers in spring, screen doors slapping shut in July, leaf blowers humming through November’s confetti.

The Tory Hill Meeting House anchors the town’s center, a white clapboard sentinel built in 1797, its spire pointing upward as if to remind the stars they’re not the only lights. Inside, the floorboards creak underfoot like living things, and sunlight slants through windows thin as parchment, illuminating dust motes that dance like atoms in a physics demo. On Tuesday nights, the basement hosts potlucks where casseroles proliferate with a fervor bordering on evangelical, and conversations bloom in Mainers’ flat-voweled patois, topics hopping from carburetor repair to the merits of different cloud types. You half-expect Melville’s ghost to pull up a folding chair, scribbling notes.

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

Follow Route 112 north and you’ll hit the Saco River, a liquid seam stitching the town to the rest of the world. In summer, kids cannonball off rope swings, their laughter echoing off water so cold it feels purgatorial, redemptive. Canoes glide past, paddles dipping in unison, as if the river itself is conducting the strokes. Fishermen wade hip-deep at dawn, their lines slicing the mist, faces set in expressions of Zen-like focus that suggest they’re after something more than trout. The riverbanks teem with blueberries in August, plump, indigo, tart enough to make your jaw clench in gratitude.

Downtown, the Buxton General Store operates as a kind of secular chapel, its shelves stocked with shotgun shells, Bundt pans, and maple syrup in glass jugs labeled in careful cursive. The cashier knows everyone’s name and the preferred coffee order of each regular, which he dispenses with the solemnity of a priest offering communion. Outside, a bulletin board bristles with index cards advertising lawnmower repairs, quilting circles, lost dogs. The notices change with the seasons, a paper chronicle of the town’s heartbeat.

What’s easy to miss, if you’re just passing through, is how Buxton’s ordinariness becomes extraordinary under scrutiny. The way Mrs. Dutton’s dahlias explode in Technicolor each September, fists of petals punching the air. The way the library’s summer reading program turns kids into pirates hunting for treasure in book spines. The way the whole town shows up for Friday night football games, breath visible under stadium lights, cheers rising like steam. It’s a place where time doesn’t so much slow down as expand, revealing layers you’d mistake for mundane until you realize they’re the opposite: small, sacred proofs that community isn’t something you build but something you tend, daily, like a fire.

Leave your phone in your pocket. Let the silence here, a rich, woolen quiet broken only by chickadees and distant chainsaws, press against your ears. Notice how the sky looks bigger, as if the atmosphere thins just enough to remind you that wonder isn’t a function of scale. Buxton doesn’t dazzle. It doesn’t need to. It persists, gentle and unyielding, a rebuttal to the lie that bigger is better. You’ll want to stay. You’ll want to listen. You’ll want to relearn the art of staying still.