June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Mountainhome is the High Style Bouquet

Introducing the High Style Bouquet from Bloom Central. This bouquet is simply stunning, combining an array of vibrant blooms that will surely brighten up any room.

The High Style Bouquet contains rich red roses, Stargazer Lilies, pink Peruvian Lilies, burgundy mini carnations, pink statice, and lush greens. All of these beautiful components are arranged in such a way that they create a sense of movement and energy, adding life to your surroundings.

What makes the High Style Bouquet stand out from other arrangements is its impeccable attention to detail. Each flower is carefully selected for its beauty and freshness before being expertly placed into the bouquet by skilled florists. It's like having your own personal stylist hand-pick every bloom just for you.

The rich hues found within this arrangement are enough to make anyone swoon with joy. From velvety reds to soft pinks and creamy whites there is something here for everyone's visual senses. The colors blend together seamlessly, creating a harmonious symphony of beauty that can't be ignored.

Not only does the High Style Bouquet look amazing as a centerpiece on your dining table or kitchen counter but it also radiates pure bliss throughout your entire home. Its fresh fragrance fills every nook and cranny with sweet scents reminiscent of springtime meadows. Talk about aromatherapy at its finest.

Whether you're treating yourself or surprising someone special in your life with this breathtaking bouquet from Bloom Central, one thing remains certain: happiness will blossom wherever it is placed. So go ahead, embrace the beauty and elegance of the High Style Bouquet because everyone deserves a little luxury in their life!

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

Mountainhome, Pennsylvania sits tucked into the crease of the Pocono Mountains like a note slipped into a pocket. The town does not announce itself. You find it by slowing down, by noticing the way the two-lane road curves gently past a red barn whose paint has faded to the color of October apples, past a creek that chatters over rocks worn smooth as old coins, past a diner where the neon sign hums a promise of pie. The air here carries the scent of pine and something else, a quiet musk that might be the earth itself exhaling. To enter Mountainhome is to feel, almost immediately, that you have been granted access to a secret everyone else is too hurried to see.

The town’s center is a single street lined with buildings that wear their histories like well-loved sweaters. There’s a hardware store whose wooden floors creak in a language only regulars understand. A woman in paint-splattered overalls leans on the counter, debating the merits of latex versus oil-based primer with the owner, whose hands are nicked with scars from decades of fixing what others thought beyond repair. Next door, a bookstore occupies a space no larger than a suburban living room. Its shelves bow under the weight of paperbacks and field guides, their spines cracked by readers who still believe in underlining sentences that matter. The proprietor, a man with a beard like a thicket, will recommend a novel you’ve never heard of but will, by page thirty, feel you’ve always needed.

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

Children pedal bicycles down streets where the only traffic is the occasional pickup truck idling behind them, driver nodding as if to say, Take your time. In the park, oak trees stretch their limbs over picnic tables where families gather on Sundays. Someone’s grandmother unwraps a casserole dish still warm from the oven; someone’s toddler chases a dog whose tail wags like a metronome set to allegro. The laughter here isn’t the kind that demands attention. It’s softer, a shared language.

Autumn transforms the hills into a riot of color so intense it feels almost theatrical, maples burning crimson, birches shimmering gold, but the people of Mountainhome treat the spectacle with the ease of those who know better than to confuse beauty with performance. They rake leaves into piles their kids leap into, scattering the work, and no one minds. Winter brings snow that muffles the world, turning the town into a snow globe shaken gently by some cosmic hand. Woodsmoke curls from chimneys. Neighbors shovel each other’s driveways without waiting to be asked.

Spring arrives in a rush of thawing streams and the first tender shoots of daffodils piercing the mud. At the farmers’ market, a man sells honey in mason jars, each label handwritten with the date and the names of flowers his bees visited. A teenager hands out samples of maple syrup boiled down in her family’s sugar shack, her pride as palpable as the sweetness on your tongue. Summer nights bring concerts on the green. A local band plays folk songs as fireflies blink their approval. Couples sway, their shadows merging and parting like shy companions.

What lingers, after you leave, isn’t any single image but a feeling, a sense that in Mountainhome, life moves at the pace of a heartbeat, not a hashtag. The town resists the modern itch to turn itself into a spectacle. It simply exists, steadfast and unpretentious, a place where the act of noticing, the way light filters through leaves, the sound of a screen door slapping shut, the warmth of a hand-painted sign that reads Welcome, becomes its own kind of sacrament. You realize, driving away, that the secret Mountainhome guards isn’t about the town at all. It’s about you. It’s about remembering how to see.