June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Clarks Summit is the Color Craze Bouquet

The delightful Color Craze Bouquet by Bloom Central is a sight to behold and perfect for adding a pop of vibrant color and cheer to any room.

With its simple yet captivating design, the Color Craze Bouquet is sure to capture hearts effortlessly. Bursting with an array of richly hued blooms, it brings life and joy into any space.

This arrangement features a variety of blossoms in hues that will make your heart flutter with excitement. Our floral professionals weave together a blend of orange roses, sunflowers, violet mini carnations, green button poms, and lush greens to create an incredible gift.

These lovely flowers symbolize friendship and devotion, making them perfect for brightening someone's day or celebrating a special bond.

The lush greenery nestled amidst these colorful blooms adds depth and texture to the arrangement while providing a refreshing contrast against the vivid colors. It beautifully balances out each element within this enchanting bouquet.

The Color Craze Bouquet has an uncomplicated yet eye-catching presentation that allows each bloom's natural beauty shine through in all its glory.

Whether you're surprising someone on their birthday or sending warm wishes just because, this bouquet makes an ideal gift choice. Its cheerful colors and fresh scent will instantly uplift anyone's spirits.

Ordering from Bloom Central ensures not only exceptional quality but also timely delivery right at your doorstep - a convenience anyone can appreciate.

So go ahead and send some blooming happiness today with the Color Craze Bouquet from Bloom Central. This arrangement is a stylish and vibrant addition to any space, guaranteed to put smiles on faces and spread joy all around.

Consider the heliconia ... that tropical anarchist of the floral world, its blooms less flowers than avant-garde sculptures forged in some botanical fever dream. Picture a flower that didn’t so much evolve as erupt—bracts like lobster claws dipped in molten wax, petals jutting at angles geometry textbooks would call “impossible,” stems thick enough to double as curtain rods. You’ve seen them in hotel lobbies maybe, or dripping from jungle canopies, their neon hues and architectural swagger making orchids look prissy, birds of paradise seem derivative. Snip one stalk and suddenly your dining table becomes a stage ... the heliconia isn’t decor. It’s theater.

What makes heliconias revolutionary isn’t their size—though let’s pause here to note that some varieties tower at six feet—but their refusal to play by floral rules. These aren’t delicate blossoms begging for admiration. They’re ecosystems. Each waxy bract cradles tiny true flowers like secrets, offering nectar to hummingbirds while daring you to look closer. Their colors? Imagine a sunset got into a fistfight with a rainbow. Reds that glow like stoplights. Yellows so electric they hum. Pinks that make bubblegum look muted. Pair them with palm fronds and you’ve built a jungle. Add them to a vase of anthuriums and the anthuriums become backup dancers.

Their structure defies logic. The ‘Lobster Claw’ variety curls like a crustacean’s pincer frozen mid-snap. The ‘Parrot’s Beak’ arcs skyward as if trying to escape its own stem. The ‘Golden Torch’ stands rigid, a gilded sceptre for some floral monarch. Each variety isn’t just a flower but a conversation—about boldness, about form, about why we ever settled for roses. And the leaves ... oh, the leaves. Broad, banana-like plates that shimmer with rainwater long after storms pass, their veins mapping some ancient botanical code.

Here’s the kicker: heliconias are marathoners in a world of sprinters. While hibiscus blooms last a day and peonies sulk after three, heliconias persist for weeks, their waxy bracts refusing to wilt even as the rest of your arrangement turns to compost. This isn’t longevity. It’s stubbornness. A middle finger to entropy. Leave one in a vase and it’ll outlast your interest, becoming a fixture, a roommate, a pet that doesn’t need feeding.

Their cultural resume reads like an adventurer’s passport. Native to Central and South America but adopted by Hawaii as a state symbol. Named after Mount Helicon, home of the Greek muses—a fitting nod to their mythic presence. In arrangements, they’re shape-shifters. Lean one against a wall and it’s modern art. Cluster five in a ceramic urn and you’ve summoned a rainforest. Float a single bract in a shallow bowl and your mantel becomes a Zen koan.

Care for them like you’d handle a flamboyant aunt—give them space, don’t crowd them, and never, ever put them in a narrow vase. Their stems thirst like marathoners. Recut them underwater to keep the water highway flowing. Strip lower leaves to avoid swampiness. Do this, and they’ll reward you by lasting so long you’ll forget they’re cut ... until guests arrive and ask, breathlessly, What are those?

The magic of heliconias lies in their transformative power. Drop one into a bouquet of carnations and the carnations stiffen, suddenly aware they’re extras in a blockbuster. Pair them with proteas and the arrangement becomes a dialogue between titans. Even alone, in a too-tall vase, they command attention like a soloist hitting a high C. They’re not flowers. They’re statements. Exclamation points with roots.

Here’s the thing: heliconias make timidity obsolete. They don’t whisper. They declaim. They don’t complement. They dominate. And yet ... their boldness feels generous, like they’re showing other flowers how to be brave. Next time you see them—strapped to a florist’s truck maybe, or sweating in a greenhouse—grab a stem. Take it home. Let it lean, slouch, erupt in your foyer. Days later, when everything else has faded, your heliconia will still be there, still glowing, still reminding you that nature doesn’t do demure. It does spectacular.

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

The town of Clarks Summit sits in the northeastern elbow of Pennsylvania like a quiet secret the land itself decided to keep. Drive through on a Tuesday morning in October, and the sun slants through maple leaves that burn red and gold with a fervor that feels almost religious. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, a primal cocktail that bypasses the prefrontal cortex and heads straight for the memory banks. You pass houses with wide porches and pumpkin-lined steps, their windows lit by the soft glow of table lamps that suggest a family inside, maybe someone sipping coffee, someone else hunting for a missing shoe. The sidewalks are cracked but clean. The traffic lights change with a rhythm so predictable it starts to feel like a heartbeat.

Stop at the diner on Depot Street. The door jingles. A waitress named Marie knows everyone’s order before they sit. Truckers and schoolteachers and electricians orbit around plates of pancakes, their conversations layering into a hum about the high school football team’s playoff chances, the new mural downtown, the best way to mulch hydrangeas. The coffee tastes like coffee. The syrup comes in tiny plastic thimbles. You notice how the vinyl booths creak in a way that sounds like home, even if your home is 1,000 miles away.

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

Walk south toward the park. The library there has a stone facade worn smooth by decades of weather and children’s hands. Inside, a woman in a cardigan stamps due dates with a wrist-flick so practiced it seems hydraulic. Teenagers hunch over laptops, their faces blue in the screen light. An old man reads the newspaper and nods, as if agreeing with the typeface itself. Outside, the playground teems with kids inventing games that involve elaborate rules no adult could parse. A girl in a unicorn sweatshirt declares herself queen of the monkey bars. Her subjects cheer.

The streets here have names like Grove and Blakely and Winola, words that sound like they were pulled from a poem about a place that doesn’t exist. People jog in pairs, pushing strollers, their breath visible in the chill. They wave at drivers who pause at crosswalks. They collect mail and chat with neighbors about the forecast. There’s a bakery on South State that fills the block with the smell of fresh bread at 7 a.m., a scent so dense and warm you could spread it on toast.

What’s easy to miss, if you’re just passing through, is the quiet calculus of care that keeps it all humming. The man who shovels Mrs. Ebert’s driveway every winter. The teens who plant flowers at the senior center each spring. The way the firehouse hosts pancake breakfasts where the whole town shows up, not because the pancakes are transcendent, but because the act of passing syrup becomes a kind of covenant. Clarks Summit doesn’t dazzle. It doesn’t need to. It persists, tenderly, like a hand-knit sweater passed down through generations, slightly frayed, repaired in places, impossibly warm.

By dusk, the sky turns the color of a bruised plum. Porch lights flicker on. Somewhere, a dog barks at nothing. A train whistle moans in the distance, a sound that used to mean commerce, movement, the thrill of elsewhere. Now it’s just part of the score, a bass note under the rustle of leaves. You stand there, hands in pockets, watching the day soften into night, and it hits you: This is what a town becomes when it’s built not on ambition or spectacle, but on the simple, daily act of showing up. The miracle of the ordinary, insisted upon, again and again.